Cramps! The stomach rebels against my will
And up and down and out comes the cheap swill
Drunk this day, to salve my poor broken soul--
as they say, "make love to yon porcelain bowl".
Ay, me, this be a familiar sight--
Drink Pepto, Immodium through the night
And all for naught, in the end all for none
For I am, haggard, with the rising sun
Greeting the morn an empty container
Vomit and stench-- what a sad remainder
Of noble manhood, who once scoured deep space
And found there briefly purpose and place.
Yet, being single with diarrhea
Beats love so true, marked by gonorrhea.
Dedicated to Julia, who once quoted Vonnegut, saying that even bad poems are a gift to friends. Perhaps she will reconsider.
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