The Creative Chemist


I had a simply smashing time
when I worked in the lab,
broken glass was everywhere
especially on my tab.
My skin was multicoloured
with neatly patterned burns
from every known acid, spilt
in clumsy three-point turns.

A litre of dichlorobenzene
dropped upon the lino
dissolved my soles and half the floor --
I skated like a wino,
but that was merely warming up
before my finest trick:
tipped nitric acid down my pants
and nearly lost my dick.

Most lab coats shone a gleaming white --
mine started out that way,
but soon displayed exotic hues
and brand-new holes each day.
My colleagues were all most polite
when I went down to tea --
they paled, half-choked and moved aside
respectfully, for me.

Few people can pronounce my fate:
2,6-Dimethylbenzenethiol!
Five mils would clear the Empire State,
pure Eau de Skunk smells far less vile.
I didn't mean to make the stuff,
but some just have the knack;
it shut the place for three whole months --
the bastards wouldn't have me back!


 

 

© David Nourse 2010

 

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