Climbing the Heights

Friday, July 31, 2009

On washing

Thou doth stink
There is no other way
In which to say it
I think

And I speak not of character
Nor class
Save that thou lacks
The necessity
Of common class

When thy entrance was first made
Didst near but clear a room
With thy lack of groom

Twas it too much work
To cleanse thy form
For thy own sake
When thou didst awake

Nay, I fear
Tis more of concern
To spend thy time
Toping thy thirst of whiskey or wine
Or relishing in the wisps of smoke
That from thy pipe evoke

I fear if I did embalm thee
With some sent of sweetness
Thy toxins might repel
Such sweetness with thy smell

I can no further gift thee give
Than this request
That thou return
Well rested
And washed

-Joshua Lee Foist

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