Enema

Fran never could stop craving
the paint lid pop relief
of asking the right question.

On the phone to friends Fran pulls
reasoning calf tomatoes out of can tins
sauce agrees that it was a pretty good year
even though the craft party had ended in conversational confetti
and the duck peking had been found puked up behind the curtains
and she kept dreaming that the shit in the middle of the sitting room floor

kept cracking jokes about a clausal enema
and how it only got some things
the rest was like a sealed shut paint tin.