Men are born to break even

First, they ask you

to collect their hands

and then they fold

into themselves

There’s something

bout the sound of

cartilage cracking

and sinew tearing

at the seams

that follows you

And the stench

ain’t too pretty either

Every other night

I gotta round up

their stinking bodies

and useless hands

But at least they’re

Compact n’ all

n’ not an awful

trouble to move

to the dumpster

out back

I don’t have much

Sympathy for em’

but I’ve come to understand

it’s just not in their nature

to gamble

Still, though, it’s sad

to see the young ones

fold over, 5 times er more

n’ become a mess a’

bone meal n’ frittered flesh

There just isn’t any dignity in it