Monday, December 15, 2008

three sheets to the wind

my parents are incontinent and known for it

everywhere they go or have-ever-been
are their leavings their extrusions

I don't get it
all this ordure everywhere

even at their own funerals
they'll be quietly sloughing

it into their boxes
we'll hear them in there

giggling about it
like it's still intoxicating, funny, joyous
after all this time

I'm sending them nappies
for Christmas
but I know they'll be sent back

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