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Pooetry

Corporate Crapper

The toilets at work have fallen into disrepair.
Their current state would give you quite a scare.

If you’ve read some previous pooems you might already know.
I’ve gone into much detail, you’ve seen my penmanshit flow.

The plastic seat is squeaky and is quite a bother.
A minor point, but it distracts from my soggy slother.

All over the porcelain, there are ants crawling.
Tension mounts when attempting a brown pouring.

In fact I got bit by one just the other week.
The results left in my undies a foul streak.

Filthy mould grows on the walls and on the floor.
Soon there’ll be mushrooms to pick for one and all.

Notices encouraging hygienic behaviour seem a lil insulting.
Especially when we’re out of paper to clean our brown revolting.

They joke that the cleaners aren’t equipped with jackhammers.
Yet there’s no evidence of their bathroom manners.

Management like to remind the workers who’s the boss.
So in their private dunny we’ll plant a log of moss!

We’ll start a brown riot, or even a streaky strike!
Our asses need equality, not the Turd Reich!

Pure Pooetry

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