Published on Oct 28, 2012
Today on the show I talked about how old folks in Florida have discovered poetry. They gather at a local Wendy's to read and recite poetry.
I decide to write my own poem about the senior citizen experiences, and I present it as a slam poetry reading.
Adult Diapers, Diaper Garments Depend Undergarments
Underwhat? Underneath the Bloomers, Underneath the Sweatpants, Underneath the years of the urinary control lie a
a piss soaked reminder of our age. Under the garment.
Bowel control? Can't control flow? The flow of feces, the the flow of time. Time is a fleeting thing.
Fleeting Fleet Enema. Sometimes you can't go, sometimes the flow slows. You need that enema to
regain... control. But there is no control. A reminder lies underneath. Under the garments. Depend
When you walk, when you roll, you feel that loss of control sloshing in your pants. a mixture of piss
and shit. The stink of the elderly wafts about and lets everyone around you know, you're no longer
in control. control of the flow. All of that piss leaks out, those farts squeak out, that rancid shit reeks out, under the garment.
Last days on earth, the indignity of it all. Some mexican nurse wiping your ass, smearing it on that toilet paper, the canvas for your bowel movement art. The brown streaks and the lines, some are bold some are fine, a fecal masterpiece - A Jackson Poo-LICK. Look at those deep stains, caused by that chocolate rain - it's anal poo-nami. A Category 5 Turdicane. Out of your ass into In your pants - your underpants - your under garment.
Ask Yourself: Does it matter? Does anyone care? Does Any of the Mean anything? The answer
lies in your pants: your underpants - your undergarments.
The answer is: DEPENDS.