Bowels are ready but cheeks are timid.
If I don’t poop soon, butt will be livid.

But the seat is chilly and glazed in ice.
Making this session far from nice.

I sigh and exhale, see my foggy breath.
Brown cloud fart smells like death.

A frozen and exposed rump is not ideal.
I just wanna farewell last night’s meal.

As I peel my skin from the icy facility…
I’m torn and leave with a rear disability.