I can spot a family of puckers a mile away. My guess is the son on the left, the one holding the bowl, is the puker who pukes real puke.
PORTRAIT OF A REALIST
There is an old man who pukes metal. Today bedsprings.
Yesterday, the iron maiden of Nuremberg.
His wife is more for cloth. Today she pukes used mummy wrappings. Yesterday, a teddy bear without a head.
Suddenly the old man pukes a battalion of lead soldiers. His wife upchucks a bundle of soiled diapers.
They have a son who's also a puker. But, unlike his parents, he pukes real puke . . .
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