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.
