Woman Is a Hole

Woman is a hole, Soft with spongey walls, Press the button, make her howl, Crash through her virgin halls. A newborn baby, little girl, Fresh kitchen rag to store, Waiting ignorant of the day, When she too will be soiled. Decades later, kitchen rags, Sit discarded in a bin, A loony bin for hags to talk, And squeeze out salty drips. Streaming semen pulling tears, Out of ragged women, In a circle all but holes, Men uninvited saunter in.