Breasts Poem by Rachel Speed

Breast. The screen is full of breast, Martha. Ooh child. This darn fool done did it again.
Yes. Breast, Martha, as in those filthy sand bags that you have saggin' on ya chest.
Oh, I'm sorry Martha. I didn't mean to-
Yes, Yes I know.
Well, what am I ought to do, Martha? Tell his father?
Oh? Really Martha? And tell him what exactly? "Oh, hi George. How's ya day. Uh-uh. Oh well that's swell. How am I doin'. Just fine. Thank you. Yeah well I was just callin' to let you know that ya son was usin' the family computer to fill his damn head up with images of women's breast! "
Think for once in ya damn life. Martha
Lord have mercy.
What?
Look at his history?
Well why i 'otta be doin' that for?
‘step-sister gets stuck in washin' machine'?
Where's Jermanie? Jermanie! Jermanie! Stay far away from ya brother and don't go near that damn laundry room, young lady. Jermanie!