385 – What Fresh Hell Is This…

Poem number 385
.
What Fresh Hell Is This…
.
What freshly squeezed out Hell is this?
What steaming pile of poo
Have they emptied in my in-tray, what’s this putrefying goo?
.
What turgid mound of excrement
What pile of sweating crap
Have they shovelled up from who knows where and dumped upon my lap?
.
What stinking, fly blown vomitus
What oozing, brown hued shit
Have they wiped from someone’s dirty arse and dumped right where I sit?
.
What squelching diarrhoea pus
What dripping, fetid cack?
To be honest they can stuff it, they can have the whole lot back
.
They can take their coils of black manure
Their crusty rotting dung
I shall bag it up and smear it
On their lips and on their tongue
.
I shall feed them this excretia
Make them gag on stinking paste
They shall drink the half digested runs
The excremental waste
.
I’m resigning my position,
I am giving up my seat
I am handing in my notice, but this isn’t a defeat
.
I’ll move on, I think, to bigger things
But they, so scared to quit?
They will drown, their throats forever filled with maggots and with shit.

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