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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