sometimes I imagine what a war
between female sanitary products
might be like—
tampons whip their flagella
furiously in the wind
and
the maxi-pad flaps
its wings low to the ground,
a manta-ray shadow skimming
the surface of the earth
as a tampon spears it
with a plastic applicator
it sinks to its padded knees
from it pours the red badge
of courage
and so bravely in the face of death
does the pad moo,
that even the tampon raises
one cottony-fingered salute
taps plays in the distance
later, her pants around her ankles
--where the fuck did all this blood come
from
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