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Pooetry

Brown is The New Black

In prison, everyone can hear you poop.
So little privacy while you drop goop.

You’ll become the master of the silent deposit.
Poos make a poofect dive into the water closet.

But forget flushing, it makes too much sound.
You don’t want to awaken the sniffer hounds.

And the paper is crusty and smells used.
Guilty as yourself, the paper is accused.

But at least you have a toilet, not just a bucket.
Imagine shitting into that! I say “fuck it!”

But then you get thrown in the hole.
And there’s the bucket in place of a bowl.

So you start a smear campaign in riotous protest.
The brownly stained walls remind you of your arrest.

Public defecation and littering of fecal matter.
Your attorney failed to absolve your legal splatter.

Pure Pooetry

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