Mercurochrome

I remember it well that small brown bottle, 

my grandma kept it on the kitchen shelf. 

It was a symbol of torture for a child, 

to add insult to unfortunate injury. 

As I write this I can’t even make this rhyme,

because there is no fun in that red hell,

the moment it touched an open wound, 

a kid was certain they were hated. 

It didn’t matter what the injury was, 

the pain was minor compared to what followed, 

that white cap and cruel applicator, 

how did it not have a skull and crossbones label? 

Mercurochrome they called this demon liquid, 

it was a bloody-looking red which was fitting. 

A mere microsecond after it was applied, 

the victim was set on fire. 

Blow it! Blow it! A poor kid would beg, 

My God, do you really hate me this much? 

I already crashed my bike and skinned my knee, 

and this is your answer you sadistic hag! 

What madman could concoct such a potion? 

A staining red liquid with an armageddon kiss? 

Fit for a thief, murderer, or rapist, 

this torture in a glass applicator! 

You’re bleeding my grandma would say, 

I tried to hide my injury from her hawkish eyes, 

It’s fine I would tell her, it doesn’t even hurt, 

I’d say that even if the bone was exposed. 

Oh hell! Not the brown bottle! No! 

There should’ve been horror movie music

a fitting accompaniment for that dramatic lid spin, 

to go with my terror-filled heart!

Drip. Drip. Sizzle and Sting. Ahhh! 

I look to see if my skin is on fire! 

Not again I tell myself. That bottle will disappear, 

I craft a clever plan to protect myself. 

Next scrape from a bike crash I grin, 

she’s out of that evil nightmare fluid, 

I rid myself of that bottle when she wasn’t looking, 

so a plastic bandage and a kiss is my comfort. 

Are you kidding me? This cannot be! 

Did she buy this acid by the crate? 

I see it in her hand a brand-new bottle, 

She knew my plan and I’ll pay dearly! 

Were there any healing qualities to this crap? 

Did the agony of application profit anything? 

It’s my belief this devil-lightning in a bottle, 

served only to make kids more careful! 

Grandma knew it burned like the dickens, 

in her wisdom the power was in the pain. 

It stung like a hornet a venomous lesson, 

to encourage me not to do dumb things!