A big fistload of soap will wash away
the last vestigial trace
of the schvitz that made folks lope
from scenter, scenter who’s centered in their place.
They’d rather a fart when their eyes
start to well up with you-caused tears.
A big fistload of soap will help
to wash away their jeers.

A big fistload of soap will wash away
the cow dung from your shins
that sticks on when you lope
past fences, fences where the kine are penned in.
To lave away that “dirt” on your heels
that is caked in striated tiers,
a big fistload of soap will help
to wash away those smears.

It’s not just turds you must do in that lie
between toes when they dry—not OK!
Frightful scourge, a mess that must egress.
What it means: you must address this not-nosegay.

A big fistload of soap will lave away
this “perfume,” if done Zestfully.
A big fistload of soap will cleanse ya,
wash ya till you rest stench-free.
Free of shame, free of blight
that appalled all your groaning peers.
A big fistload of soap will stanch their jeers
and launch their cheers.

But ablute yourself Zestfully. The brand’s name
is just right…only one you will want to hear.
It is the only soap you’ll ever want, to get stench-clear.
It gives all other soaps no shot at vauntings—only jeers.