Ode to Neti

My suffering acute, my concrete nose

And drip, post-nasal, keeps me from my rest.

My babe-filled womb expanding as he grows

Allows me not the drugs I would request.

What then?  O neti pot, you sing my name

It hums along your stainless gleaming rim

Your rounded body, filled with water warm

And salt, my nose salvation, stirred therein.

With trepidation first I pulled you close

And plugged my solid nostril with your spout

But soon my fear was draining out my nose

Along with all the snot you wash-ed out.

It’s strange, a little gross, and most won’t dare –

But sinus cleanly scrubbed?  Beyond compare.