The Underground Tavern (poem)

The boys were sharing a tampon     
as large as a crepe,
one of them had found in the dilapidated washroom,
earlier, when they still bothered to use it.
They cut the tampon with scissors,
chewed bits of it, sucking on the gem of the menstrual blood,
chasing it down with beer, vodka, rum,
whatever came in handy.
At this point of the night
they stopped using the john
and pissed freely on the dirt floor,
shriveled dicks hanging out the flies of the jeans
of the ones who cared enough to unbutton.
On the floor littered with dog noses, tongues,
and mandibles with rotted teeth,
The urine mixed with coagulating blood.  
The waitress paid no mind to the wasted customers
this was an underground tavern,
no pigs.
She played a crossword puzzle
and rubbed her bean in the flickering light of a lamp.
The youth in the corner
hung his head between his hands
and started puking
the dirt floor in front of his shoes bubbling like a yellow volcano.
The alpha grabbed the gun next to his bloody machete
and shot him in the head.
The crumpled face lifted
only to catch a second bullet.
One eye popped on the soiled floor
and the snoutless dogs tried to eat it
but only managed to push it around.
The waitress stumbled to the middle of the tavern
lay down on her back and spread her heavy legs wide
her clit was a wrinkled plum,
infested by lice from her black, wiry bush,
growing between things stained with feces and blood.
The eye wormed inside her warmth
and she threw her head back
and gave an ecstatic, guttural moan,
sagging tits shooting jets of milk
the mangled dogs tried in vain to suck on.
Tongues hanging out
the teens laughed and barked,
beating themselves.