what have I seen?

I like your way, Catullus, talking about the
whore who claims you owe her money, or
that guy who smiled too much–must have cleaned
his teeth with piss, or about how the poets
come with their blameless tame verse, or about
how this guy married a slut.

you come right out and say things,
you’re not like the others; but, listen, Catullus,
didn’t I see you at the race track bar last
Thursday?   you had this great whale of a cunt
with you, must have scaled 190, one breast flopped
loose, dressed in a lavender sheet, I believe I heard
her pass wind in public–her teeth green, her buttocks
of sagging celluloid, and you drunk and pawing into
her anus…
surely, that was not you, Catullus, at the race track
bar last Thursday?