kleenex

when post-divorce you have bathed

and have done it passing well

(on this I need not further dwell),

then placed right round your neck

a c’mem’ratory wreath,

and have tightly flossed and brushed your teeth

and massaged firm gums beneath

your foul breath fully to dispel,

and now you smell, well,

of french cologne …

or p’raps of piney aftershave

(if I may chance to rave!),

you, by your acts,

have come not just a freed ex …

but a liberated kleenex