On a recent trip to Nepal.
I had an extra weight to haul.
Because I had to poop in a hessian sack.
Which I carried on my weary back.
And it’s size was certainly not small.

You see I was trekking up Mount Everest.
My climbing skills I wanted to test.
And to be the first to poop at the peak.
And to a start a downhill brown creek.
But my sherpa was not too impressed.

In fact the sherpa was not helpful nor kind.
He wouldn’t even wipe my behind.
So I told him right to his face…
When we reached the first base…
A poo in his mountain boot I would grind.

When I awoke the next morning.
I was not given any sort of warning.
I noticed that I was suddenly all alone.
The shitty sherpa didn’t throw me a bone.
Just me and the sack filled with my spawning.

But I didn’t lose any hope.
I kept climbing up the slope.
By nightfall I found a cave.
In it I could be saved.
And release some brown rope.

In the middle of the night.
I was woken in fecal fright.
A beastly, shadowy figure loomed.
It stunk, and it wasn’t of perfume.
Then it stepped into the campfire’s light…

The Abominable Pooman was here!
I immediately flooded from my rear.
Then oddly, he did the very same.
I think he thought it was a game.
And since then I’ve been his poopy peer.