Quenching Their Papyrus Of Filth
Saratoga springs eternal
In my bathroom lair
Lathered up, the bashful Colonel
Spat into his hair
In her toga Sara bridled
All about to fume
Through the shower dim she sidled
In the froth and spume
First the loofah, then the dagger
Were enlisted - in her care -
Subtle as the carpet-bagger
Thinking what he dares to wear
Now she strikes; the early-warning
Fails to be alert
Injuries, this merry morning
In May, then hurt
The supple wrist of Saratoga
In that bathroom dim
Apes the postures learnt in Yoga
By the Seraphim
There he blows, the long-expected
Pensioner from Delaware,
In his envy, half-neglected
By his kith who paid the fare,
Now expiring; on the towels
Soaked with sputum, semen, blood,
Saratoga's punctured bowels
Release a mortal flood
Contributors: | Surlaw, Apsley, Shipp. |
Poem finished: | 3rd June 2004 by Anon.. |