I’m Sorry

Sat down to shit like I usually do.
And out oozed a magnificent poo.

Then it hit me like a tonne of bricks.
The scent of this one was oh so thick.

You could cut the smell with a knife.
But why? The effect would end in strife.

Something I ate obviously didn’t agree.
An awful, nature defying, evil decree.

I could tell this was bad when in the next cubicle,
The occupant fled the scent of my fecal funeral.

“I’m sorry” I whispered, but it was too late.
Hence fourth I’ve lost my sense of taste.

And since then my eyes uncontrollably weep.
My nightmares are brown and without sleep.

Pure Pooetry

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