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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.

Copyright © Alice Reynolds

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