SpamDeLa

Tortured with the thought of the greasy pink innards that touch me
The water swirls down as I throw up, what a tragedy
It's a technicolor painting, thick chromatic lumps of pink
That bob and float down gently, into the basin of the sink
My stomach roils and heaves again, 'til once again I hurl
And the sink fills up again, gurgling down a chunk or curl
Of pink lumpy spam, mingling with the water in a swirl.
I hang my head and vow not to eat it again, let it be
And let spam vanish from my home, gone from my fridge the canned link
But I know I'll eat it once more, and let it again unfurl.