Illustrated Erotic Poetry White Goods

White Goods

Illustrated Poetry
Oh my stomach’s churning
Rather full you see. In fact stuffed.
Gurgle, glug, hiss
It makes the most embarrassing sounds.
It is of course her fault.
Fed me too much again. All sorts.
Just mixed together. No respect for my system.
She laughs and presses herself against me
as I vibrate across the kitchen,
trying to shake things loose
The kids, the dog, all tearing past
out into a filthy world.
As if I had nothing better to do than wash their clothes.
One day, with the kids away, she
and her husband
made love.
On me. The indignity of it
Shaking and giggling
then shrieking to the spin cycle.
And the smells. Sickly sweetness
spilt by the youngest.
Sickly sick
and god knows what the dog rolled in.
I don’t know how I’d cope
if it wasn’t for the white powder.
At least that offers some comfort.