Rotten and Forgotten

“The Cunt has been disconnected.”
Inspector Michaels concurred,
The grey monotony of the pad,
Grizzling its information,
Beyond binary,

“Removed with what?”
She had asked
“Apple corer.”
“Rather crude.”
Michaels steeped the lenses to the edge of,
Bushed flared nostrils,
“The Cunt was rather small.”

She huffed,
“Then where is the juice?”
Michaels held the finger east,
“Check the yogurt pots on the window…”

Further huffing,
Revealed a collection like no other,
Balanced upon the sill window,
Four pots,
Clean sides,
No spillage,
Neatly packed with Cunt lactate,

“The smell…”
As she turned her head,
He laughed and added…
“Reminds you of home?”
She huffed,
Adjusting pad on her thighs.

He had been there,
Left a root scraping,
Worth aborting during springtime,
Still,
He made her smile.

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