Poem: The Diaper Of Doolin

The Diaper Of Doolin

I’m a servant by trade.

I clean out the loos,

And I’ve seen me some diapers,

And I’ve changed quite a few.

But there’s one dirty didey that left me aghast.

Aye, the Diaper Of Doolin looms large in my past.

It was bloated and loaded as if Lucifer fill’d it,

And it leaked from all sides e'en though it was quilted.

Now most every baby is lovingly fed

With sweet mommy milk in a pillowy bed.

But who feeds a baby such ill-gotten meals

As buffalo dumplings and hot buttered eel?

But that’s what I found when I peeled back the diaper,

And it smelled like an over-ripe merkin, but riper.

A gluey blue goulash awash in ganache,

And tossed in a broth of anal floss sauce.

A beef and bean butt bomb that peeled back the paint, 

A stench so intense, it un-martyred the saints.

It smelled of bad bullion, befungal and spunky.

There were times, I confess, that the smell made me hungry.

I buried it twice ‘neath a yewberry tree, 

But the Diaper Of Doolin done dug itself free.

It crawled to my door in a trail of flames.

It sang 'neath my window and called me sweet names.

So I paddled it out far away from the shore,

Where that unholy hotload would haunt me no more.

I murmured a prayer, and I dropped it on in, 

But what kind of god makes a diaper that swims?

Now I wander the earth in a veil of shame,

For the Diaper of Doolin hath sullied my name.

The ladies, they whisper.  That’s my stench, they say.

Men gather their children and hurry away.

But my day is coming—mark well what I say!

For when I grow old and my bowels give way,

I’ll fill me a diaper like no man before
And I’ll loose it upon all you children of whores.