The Day After Christmas

It’s the day after Christmas, and what is it?

The puppy’s been digging in the compost and he smells like shit.

He’s jumped in my lap, incurring my wrath,

“Fuck me” I said, “You stink, you’ll need a bath!”

Don’t know what he’s eaten, but it’s on his breath.

It smells fermented, it smells like death.

And there’s something gross stuck in his paws

That’s now on my jeans, because he’s stomped on my balls.

The other two blasted through the door, joining the fray.

Screwit, I may as well get up. A fine start to the day.