It ponders on the plight of men
Whose hairy bottoms plague the land,
Whose testicles shrink at thoughts of death
And bowels in spastic fear expand.

And whilst its thoughts are thus engaged
The sullen world is plunged in soap,
Its secret workings then displayed,
Upon a six-foot length of rope.

No longer will it have to spin
Too keep its sad designs intact,
The without now fueled from within,
In theory, if not quite in fact.

Yet, unimpressed by such a scene
The eft continues with its thought:
"What function serves a human being,
Whose ideas go where it cannot?"

"A sorry lot their lives must be,
Such useless talk and clumsy sex,
Their presence reeks of entropy,
Their silly hairstyles full perplex."

"No sense can grace their flapping mouths,
No spark to light the dullard's mind,
Their urges ever travel south
From heads well-lodged in flabby hind."

The soapy world gives no reply
And none did eftish ears expect,
Content to merely wonder why
And once again its knee inspect.

So on the salted rim of life
The limpid eft chews unconcerned,
While tarnished gold reveals its worth
Like lover's buttocks spanked and spurned.
M4a(5)