Body Bacteria  

Flaky, floaty flecks of skin

make spacecraft for our body’s bugs.

They’ll colonise most anything

from where we step to who we hug.

My bugs are different from yours.

With many species grown and mixed

to make our unique signatures.

It seems our bugs are fairly fixed.

So, could bugs be our new ID?

Like fingerprints we can compare?

Forensic science might declare

“Your bugs told us that YOU were there!”

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/phenomena/2015/05/11/can-the-microbes-you-leave-behind-be-used-to-identify-you/

WHEN YOU TOUCH a surface, you leave behind fingerprints—distinctive swirling patterns of oils that reveal your identity. You might also deposit traces of DNA, which can also be used to identify you. And you leave microbes. You are constantly bleeding microbes into your surroundings, and whenever you touch something, bacteria hop across from your skin.

It’s increasingly clear that everyone has a unique community of microbes—or microbiome—living on their bodies. We share species and strains but the exact roll call varies from person to person. “If you take a collection of people, their microbes will look very different but their genomes will look mostly the same,” says Curtis Huttenhower from the Harvard School of Public Health. So, could the DNA of these tiny variable residents also reveal our identity, just like fingerprints or our own DNA?

Roxy Redmond, the cavoodle

My name’s Roxy,

I’m a cavoodle.

A cavoodle, I said,

Not a poodle!

I love to frisk

And have lots of fun.

And right through your house

I love to run!

I love you so,

My hair I won’t shed,

And that is why I can

Sleep on your bed!

 Nanna Rap 

Let me tell you ‘bout my nanna. She is 83. 

She’s an octogenarian VIP. 

Nanna likes to relax living life to the max. 

So, lend me your ears and I’ll give you the facts. 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna. 

My Nanna plays bingo at the hall every Sunday, 

still believing that she’ll win big ONE DAY. 

On a Monday, she pops to the op-shop 

for a gossip with the girls. They natter non-stop 

’bout the times when they jigged to the BEBOP. 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna. 

Tuesday. See my nanna ride into town 

on a scooter. No sign of her slowing down. 

Every Wednesday my nanna does hip-hop; 

Not bad for a biddy with a hip-op. 

Then she hangs with her friends at the CHIP SHOP. 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna. 

Thursday and the weekend’s approaching, 

but my nanna won’t go slow coaching. 

She does surfing like back in her heyday. 

Then Friday is making apple-pie day. 

No one bakes it like she bakes it, NO WAY! 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna. 

Saturday has to be my nanna’s best day 

Cos she likes to take it easy; have a REST DAY. 

Now we’re comin’ to the end of my nanna rap. 

Time for nanna just to have her little nanna nap. 

Every nanna has to have a little nanna nap. 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, Go Nanna, 

Go Nanna, Go Nanna…shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 

And that’s a wrap. 

Bippity bip bop bip bop bap –

Scootin’ along to a new jazz scat.

Bippity bop bip bop bip bop,

No more walkin’ to the shop.

Hippity hop hip hip hooray!

I got a scooter for my birthday…

Yeah.

The Story of Donald McDuddle

Have you heard of Donald McDuddle

Who stepped into a deep puddle?

His new shoes — bad luck! —

Were lost in the muck,

So Donald grew feet like a duck!

There was a little girl, 

Who had a little curl 

She also dressed in the height of fashion

In fact they say this was her passion.

Every morning she would pose

By the mirror in her brand new clothes

Tossing her tresses in the air

Preening herself without a care. 

She would skip down to the breakfast table

To eat an egg if she was able.

Her vanity meant she hardly ate

“They cause a wrinkle!” she would berate

Her mother worried about this girl

Who was so cute with her little curl

But fretted that she would become

No wider than her mother’s thumb.

Hide and Seek

Grandpa and I were hiding

From my little brother Jim,

We were playing hide and seek,

Running away from him.

We ran around the corner,

As he counted up to ten,

Found a place behind the fence,

Crouched and waited then,

Nothing seemed to happen,

So we both stood up to see,

Looking at us through the fence,

Was Jim full of glee.

Why I Hate Beetroot

Beetroot’s colour hurts my eyes

That garish red I just despise

When forced to breach my reluctant lips

My stomach churns and burps and dips

It slithers and slides in a manner most foul

My body shudders – it reaches my bowel

A vegetable most surely cursed-

I have to stop, I fear the worst.