A Song from Smelbourne

(For Gem)
A Plea to the Goddess Obscenia

Goddess of all rank aromas,
Lice-infested carcinomas,
Eldritch stinks told of in Homer's
Famous Smelliad;
Queen of all things slimy, smelly,
Of puss-infested bowls of jelly
Or just that guy upon the telly -
Peter Hellier:

Patroness of toilet scum,
Or greasy swabs from grannies bums,
Or post-digestive effluvium
With name's like Hailey's Vomit
Since your dominion is old cheese,
And mouldy breads and rotting bries -
And humid dogs that swarm with fleas,
And all things we omit:

Grant then that you do not souse
One room within this little house
With maggot, mould, or turd of mouse:
Keep your distinctive pong.
We do not like your viral spores
Exuding from our walls and floors
Take it back - or keep it for
The bitch two doors along.

Send all future camel dungs
To grace the noses and the lungs
Of Fraser, Whitlam, Mao Tse Tung -
They're more deserving, surely:
Reserve a ranker perfume still
For those who tried to block The Pill -
I'm sure, O Queen that these fools will
Rank in your opinion poorly.

We beg you, take your mould and must,
Your things of slime and dirt and dust -
(It's not that we don't like you - just
Our noses are too weak
To stand this constant exercise)
Take them elsewhere - somewhere high
And far away, with lots of flies.
They'll love your reek.

(Edited and reposted this morning)