I done a fuckoff turd this morning
he declared, sauntering into the kitchen.
a real fucking honker;
like a bloody rock;
could’ve killed a man with it I tell you.
I looked across at his missus,
who was stirring a heart-shaped teabag
in an old blue mug. her dressing gown
had a hole in the left sleeve.
that’s lovely dear. she mumbled to the spoon
as she squashed the teabag
against the side of the cup.
whether his shit
looked like the teabag