Shit is Real

Been knowing this mother fucker since for ever. First with no name, then two syllables, then one syllable, then two again.

He can barely walk. Barely stand. A teetering shuffle.

The baby is crying. Wants her daddy.

Our friend’s dogs killed their chickens yesterday and we honored their deaths by plucking and processing. Squeeze the last installment of shit out the rectum. Throw ‘em in the freezer. Took hours. Damn.

Cleaning shit off a grown mans balls. From the underside of the bucket-less commode.

Big diapers. The benefits of old age.

I love you.