Good Morning from the Psych Ward

How are we
feeling today?
she asked
with
perfunctory
bleached
starched
pressed
smile.

I don’t know
about you ma’am,
but I feel like
a wiener:
swept
up
pig
lips
peckers
assholes
oinkin’
sawdust
floor
leavin’s
crammed
into
an
artificial
edible
membrane.

The obvious
crease of smile
leaves her face
as she
turns for the
door mumbling
invective laden
straight to hell
benedictions.

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