saturation

the blood­stained clothes
that just wouldn’t wash out (just
like cran­ber­ry juice spo­ken of
by p. bate­man), the wa­tered
down t-shirt con­tests (pre­cur­sor
to mar­di gras), the hair drenched
in the show­er (hu­mans look­ing
like drowned rats in the streets),
the wool coats worn in the rain
that no one re­mem­bered to take
off (now shrink­ing! now
shrink­ing!), the lit­tle girl’s bear
that got thrown in the wash­ing
ma­chine by ac­ci­dent with the
rest of the clothes (mom­ma
wan­na bet­ta one, this one got
smal­la), the love stains soak­ing
through the satin & in­to the
mat­tress af­ter a hot n’ sweaty
night-ear­ly morn (ooh la la—
ooh ooh ooh la la), the gym
shorts sog­gy af­ter a good fart
seeped out (ah­h­h­h­hh re­lief),
the bib now cov­ered in oat­meal
that dad wasn’t watch­ing so
ba­by now cov­ered in it is
jus­ti­fi­ably an­gry (whaaaaaa
whaaaaaa), the young girls
im­mersed in tequi­la at the
par­ty now beg­gin’ to go home
(in­to the mouths of wolves),
the soak­ing of the sponge
be­fore lay­ing it on the un­lucky
son of a bitch whose time has
run out, pri­or to her/his in­evitable
shock of death in what­ev­er
bible belt state s/he was stupid
enough to do the crime(s) in
(SHH­H­H­H­H­HOCK­KKKKA
SHOC­C­C­C­CK­KKKA
SHOCK SHOCK!)