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Pooetry

Ain’t No Picnic

The paint began to peel and the bowl grew stained…
The tell-tale signs of a turd going against the grain.

With every inch it felt like a mile.
The expression on my face was not a smile.

It was absolute agony the pain inside my gut.
From the fiendish turd covered in nuts.

How this turd came to be is lost in translation.
Or perhaps just maybe a matter of extreme constipation.

As time moved on the turd was almost out.
My fellow cubicle users could hear me shout.

With a huff and a puff and a mighty heave-ho.
I vanquished the beast to the depths below.

Pure Pooetry

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