Willie had a stubborn wart
upon his middle toe.
Regardless, though, of what he tried
the wart refused to go.
So Willie went and visited
his family foot physician,
who instantly agreed
it was a stubborn wart condition.
The doctor tried to squeeze the wart.
He tried to twist and turn it.
He tried to scrape and shave the wart.
He tried to boil and burn it.
He poked it with a pair of tongs.
He pulled it with his tweezers.
He held it under heat lamps,
and he crammed it into freezers.
Regrettably these treatments
were of very little use.
He looked at it and sputtered,
"Ach! I cannot get it loose!"
"I’ll have to get some bigger tools
to help me to dissect it.
I’ll need to pound and pummel it,
bombard it and inject it."
He whacked it with a hammer,
and he yanked it with a wrench.
He seared it with a welding torch
despite the nasty stench.
He drilled it with a power drill.
He wrestled it with pliers.
He zapped it with a million volts
from large electric wires.
He blasted it with gamma rays,
besieged it with corrosives,
assaulted it with dynamite
and nuclear explosives.
He hit the wart with everything,
but when the smoke had cleared,
poor Willie’s stubborn wart remained,
and Willie’d disappeared.
Text © Linda Knaus and Kenn Nesbitt, reprinted from Rolling in the Aisles published by Meadowbrook Press. Illustration © Stephen Carpenter. Any copying or use of this poem or illustration without consent is unlawful.
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