The Feast of Dirty Diapers

And behold the feast of dirty diapers!
The great black oven was not self-cleaning,
But we’ve been baking all day in the soft
Cleansing spring rain anyway. A new coach
By a renowned builder brought our guests,
And it was going to be a feast to remember!
Who didn’t dust the shadows? Mother wants
To know. We sheepishly averted our eyes.
Look at that great Jello mold in my image,
Father says of Auntie Sue. And it was true,
She was nearly transparent and smelled
Of tallow. Now the table was set
And the long ivory candles burning,
And the platters brought in wafting
That characteristic dirty diaper smell
Everyone loved so because it reminded
Them of being born again and bottle-fed.
The traditional veil was lifted and everyone
Gasped as the beauty of the main course.
Father let son carve and oh it was tender.
The rest of the meal was spent conversing,
And after much wine, of course, father had to
Trudge to the barn to change the babies,
And we had fresh diaper for desert!