Sneering at a leering lady
As she stares and squirms
At Wanda with her saintly smile
And living wig of worms
I like to watch their faces fall
As we disgust and shame them
Seeking suckers is my game
- no longer lion taming.
Like a pink and pregnant pumpkin
Perched upon her neck
Wanda Wadkins head was hurting
It was bitten by insects
I watched the awkward way she waddled
Walking to the pail
She always used to wash her worms
And clean beneath her nails
I love the soul I see inside her
But I just can't love her
Folding fat that rolls around
Like bowling balls in butter.