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Pooetry

Fanning The Flames

I’m laying in bed in the dead of night.
My bowel rumbles and needs to shite.

But first I sound off a terrible toot.
It tells me there’s several lumps to poot.

Does it smell? Oh, you bet it does!
I better vent this just because!

If only there was a way to siphon this stink air.
A way that doesn’t melt people’s nostril hairs.

But I gotta try to shift the blame.
So foolishly I start to fan the flames.

I lift up the doona then let it fall.
Its weight pushes out the stench for all.

Now the room stinks like rancid dung.
I better get up and drop this bung.

Pure Pooetry

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