An Elephant of One's Own

Toilet Graffitist He rasps the crap with crooked hands, Close to the cistern's swaddling bands; On the rim of the toilet bowl, he stands. The wrinkled turd beneath him crawls; He strains to daub the farthest walls, And, like a blundering dolt, he falls.

How doth the Neoliberal Improve his spectral Bonce While entertaining ghoulish Guests With hollow vol-au-vents! How stealthily he smeareth Poo On Georgie Porgie 's Pud, While craftily neglecting to Exist in Flesh and Blood!