By My Family

His Majesty the good King Rex who thinks his wife don't like no sex

Will be loathe to hear the truth I fear, but still, I'll dare to bend his ear

He used to shower everyday up until the 10th of May

Now just once a week will do and only if he just has to

Can't kiss him if I want to. His mouth is full of butts and brew

With cigarette hanging from his lips, I'm afraid he'll burn my tits

The air is stale, the whole house reeks. I haven't smelled fresh clothes in weeks

My nose is stuffy, my eyes burn. It's enough to make my stomach turn

My kids' hair should smell so sweet, except that in the summer heat

Their sweat makes stale smoke odor shout. These days his sanity I doubt

He's gotten lazy, old and fat; pampered like his late pet rat

He likes to sit upon his shelf and play computer with himself

His number one priority is recording movies on TV

Around the tube he builds his life; not around his kids and wife

He doesn't golf, he won't square-dance; nothing to his health enhance

But offer him just half a chance; from bar to bar he will advance

Five day old socks worn on his feet; dirty ashtrays by his seat

Discarded butts are everywhere; the yard, the street and here and there

Coffee breath, cigarettes and pit. I tell you he smells worse than shit

His breath is bad, his body stinks. I don't like sex no more he thinks

Truth is I like sex a lot, but getting past his scent is not

An easy thing, you see, as I lay there beneath of he

Why himself he doesn't smell; his nose just isn't working well

Congested sinuses I'll bet made worse by all the cigarettes.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written by Elie Cameron, July, 1992, in rebuttal to the poem I wrote called Hot Suicide. Seems she had a little(?) trouble with my smoking and the poem compounded the problem. She finally got up the courage to show it to me and I put it into the collection. Good job, Elie!

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