THIS IS THE HAPPY HUSBAND,
THIS IS HE
Like a sleek slab of pork his pate
Bends moonwise over the heaped plate.
And from his twin-topped whiskers stoop
Icicular, two beads of soup.
His belly whimpers in the dun
Processes of digestion,
While his fat fingers play like nice-
Behaved and clean-licked sewer mice.
His speckled orbs lurk deep and squat,
Two sick thick toads in a pool's rot.
Before him on the platter lies
A girl's heart salt with miseries.
His lip sweats thirst. A withdrawn cork
Plops ... he lifts his knife and fork...
Down the pink champaign of his chops
Glucose appreciation drops...