I feel like the man who just has spent
On Ex-Lax pills his final cent
And raced to a crapper that costs a dime.
I feel like the woman who missed a flight
On a plane which crashed that very night
To hear a terminal diagnosis.
I feel like the boy whose mother said
I wish my children all were dead
Before she ran off with her therapist.
I feel like the woman whose husband died
Having willed everything to his bigamous bride
And her pair of bouncing baby boys.
I feel like the man who finally died
And found that hell’s another place he tried
And failed to stop a daily buggering.
I feel like the man who learned his wife
Had fucked the postman all her life
When she died and left them with the clap.