Stump

I understand you're staring at my stump,
Although I really can't see, being blind,
Or smell the coffee. Or an orange rind.
Or anything at all. I heard a thump
And felt a definite improper bump
First from above me, then from just behind,
A few remarks were heard, mean and unkind,
About the size and colour of my hump.

No one dares speak of disabilities
In my disgruntled presence (I've got gout).
Some folks believe I ought to be devout,
But somehow I just can't get on my knees
And praise their calves. Instead, I face disease
With stoic pride. Is my tongue sticking out?