Horton Has The Flu
On the 6th day of March, in the mountains of Aspen,
in the white of the snow there was heard a great gaspin’.
He was thrashing, and struggling with a chest full of goo.
It was Horton the elephant, fighting the flu.
When poor Horton stopped thrashing, he looked all around.
“That’s funny”, thought Horton, “They’re all making this sound.”
Then he heard it again. ‘Twas a cough and a wheeze.
As if half of the town had contracted The Sneeze.
“Who can help me?”, cried Horton. “My whole head’s in a funk.
I’ve been punked by the crud! Now there’s junk in my trunk!”
Then a speck of a germ hit his trunk with a THUNK.
“I say!”, snuffled Horton, “It’s so hard to make do,
with a speck in my trunk that’s comprised of the flu.
So you know what I think? Why I think that there must
be some part of that speck that’s half flu and half dust.
It’s too hard for a creature of such a small size
to stuff up my thick trunk and blur up my sick eyes.”
“Such a miniscule speck should not stir up such fear.
But the truth is, it does! And it has! And right here!
I’ll just have to expel it, because - after all,
that small speck means big trouble. With the flu, we all fall.”
So, slowly, and using the most of his might
the sick elephant stretched his stuffed trunk in the night.
And he took a brave breath and prepared a great sneeze.
But the most he could muster was a meek, musty wheeze.
“Humph!”, humphed a mean voice. ‘Twas his Boss at his job.
“Horton, stop you’re slacking, you fat flu-faking slob.
Why, that speck is as small as the head of a pin.
You can’t tell me you’re sick and you’re not coming in!”
“Please believe me.” sniffed Horton. “I tell you sincerely
my ears are flu-plugged and I can’t hear quite clearly.
I know there’s a flu bug inside me. What’s more,
quite likely there’s two. Even three. Even four!
“Quite likely a family, for all that we know.
A family of flu germs just starting to grow.”
“So please”, Horton said, “As a favor to me
try not to be pissy, Boss. Just let me be.”
“I believe you’re a slouch”, growled the Boss, with a grin.
“I believe you’ve just made up this flu-thing to win
a free day off from work. I don’t buy it. It’s thin.
It’s a lie. And as you know, a lie is a sin.”
“What a terrible flu-bug!”, the elephant frowned.
“I can’t let my poor lungs fill with flu-goo and drown.
I’ve got to protect them. I declare IT’S FLU WAR!”
Horton huffed his stuffed trunk and stomped off to the store.
Through the pharmacy aisles the news quickly spread.
“Horton’s warring the flu! Horton’s junk-truck is dead!”
As he crashed through the aisles, with his runny trunk running
Horton gathered up Kleenex - with aloe. Quite stunning!
“Should I take extra C?”, Horton thought with alarm.
“If I do these flu germs may just come to great harm,
which is just what I want. And we all know that “C”
If ingested too deeply just turns to C-pee.
Horton bought chicken soup, Echinacea, and more.
Horton rubbed Vap-O-Rub by the tub, twenty-score.
Horton got effervescent with Airborne, quite fizzy!
Horton got acupuncture until he was dizzy.
Horton smeared creams and potions into his hot belly.
Horton did healing crystals, petroleum jelly.
Horton tried Pyramids where he lay with a feather
from an eagle who wore golden patented leather.
Then Horton stopped walking -- the flu-speck was talking!
The voice was so faint he could just barely hear it.
“Speak up, please,” said Horton. He put his ear near it.
“My friend”, said the flu, “You’re a very fine friend.
You’ve offered your trunk filled with junk end to end.
You’ve housed my whole family for days now - it’s true.
Still, it’s time that we all took our leave and left you.
You’ve suffered enough, and that’s what we germs needed.
But we’re bored, so we must leave. We’ve clearly succeeded
in making you suffer. But now we must go
and invade other snouts. Call it “Flu Quid Pro Quo.”
“But before we take leave and return you your health,
can you recommend anyone we might take in stealth?
Some poor innocent snout we might quickly invade
through a doorknob, a sneeze, or a free lemonade?
Or a shake of the hand? Or a kiss on the cheek?
We’re not picky, we’ll take almost any technique
to prolong our flu-lives. Please don’t make us pout.
Simply find us a home and we’ll jump out your snout.”
So poor Horton reflected on his keen dilemma.
He could clear his junked trunk of this troublesome phlegmma.
But he’s have to inflict this most hideous curse
on another poor victim who soon would feel worse
than a road kill jackrabbit with rickets and fevers.
Or a young tender sapling attacked by fierce beavers.
Or an extra ripe peach in a tumbling clothes dryer.
Or a family of shrimp in a deep-fat shrimp fryer.
Or a carpenter’s fat thumb attacked by a hammer.
Or a spam-hater’s e-mail attacked by a spammer.
Or a yam-lover’s tongue slammed by lambs in pajamers!
Then he paused and recalled what his angry Boss said
when his snout was all runny, his eyes bloodshot red.
He accused our dear Horton of pulling a fast one.
Of “Slouching” and “Slacking”. He thought, “That’s his last one
of hateful suggestions, attacking my word.
It’s his time! It’s his due! I don’t lie! That’s absurd!”
He will pay for his slight. And I’ll see to it now.
“Oh, dear flu-germs!”, he called, as he furrowed his brow.
“I’ve got just the right host for you family of germs.
It’s a man with a gut full of flu-friendly worms.
You can live there and play for as long as you like,
‘cause this fellow thinks he is immune to your strike.”
“Simply perch on my snout while I blow him a kiss”.
And the flu-germ replied, “It’s as easy as this?”
Horton said with a smile, “It’s the least that I owe him.
He denied I was sick. Now I’m sure this will show him.”
So he skipped off to work where his Boss did await.
“Well, well, Horton,” Boss coughed, “You’re now twelve minutes late!”
“Sorry, Boss”, Horton smiled, as he shook the Boss hand.
Patted Boss on the back. Kissed Boss cheek - as he’d planned.
Then the flu-family germs made their jump - nice and clean.
They surveyed the Boss nose, and invaded Boss spleen.
They camped out in his eyes and his throat and his chest.
And they set off to work, as good flu-germs know best.
And as Horton sat back and watched Boss-man succumb
to the flu-infestation, he chewed on his gum
and thought, “Flu-karma comes ‘round just once in each season.
Glad I passed it to Boss-man, for just the right reason.”
The End.
Illustration by Suzanne Gray
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