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Pooetry

Cold Seat

I plant my cheeks like I normally do.
To start this morning’s expulsion of poo.
But the seat is icy and quite cold.
Winter has my cheeks in a hold.
So I speed up this visit to the loo.

Something’s not right, there’s no unloading.
The silence gives me a sense of foreboding.
Alas! My bowel seems to be frozen!
Why was it this seat I’ve chosen?
Now there’ll be no porcelain corroding.

Pure Pooetry

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