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Pooetry, Coffee

Coffee Goes in…

The coffee goes in, toffee comes out.
Time to create brown sauerkraut.

The stink is rich, the stink is rank.
I think I’d rather walk the plank.

But the coffee is good, coffee tastes great.
Yet getting the runs is something I hate.

So I fill the bowl, fill it to the brim.
Flush is broken, situation is grim.

With the garden hose I’ll improvise.
But I should have an adult to supervise.

I turn on the tap, I turn it full blast.
It was a mistake, the room floods fast.

The fecal sprays upward like a fountain.
The spray is high, high like a mountain.

I sneakily take leave, I back out super slowly.
Blame someone else for this river of ravioli.

Pure Pooetry

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