The Malodorous Plight of Mother and Son
"The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years*"
I hold my breath, near despair
Wicked boys, give way to cheers.
Confined within too small a space
Putrid, vile, scent-clouds descend
I cover nose, wipe tears from face
I beg, "Dear God, please let this end!"
It makes them laugh, it swells their pride
To hear my protests, helpless cry.
Did two skunks crawl deep inside
These boys, and then proceed to die???
"Roll the windows down!" I squeal
Their feet now out, but flowers wilt
This smell much worse than rotting veal
The boys, laugh, not a shred of guilt.
Consequence of Summer's heat,
What on earth could be more splendid?
No more sweaty, stinky feet–
Soccer camp has finally ended!
Your turn: Can you relate? CAN I GET A WITNESS? Please, help me–do you have any remedies for rillyRILLY smelly feet? We've tried Sneaker Balls in his cleats, but that doesn't help the parts attached to his body. Help a mother out???
* This is what I was thinking when driving home, and in my mind's ear I could hear Vincent Price chanting these words in Michael Jackson's "Thriller".