Late Night Lingers

It’s way past bedtime and I can’t sleep.
Trouble in my bowels, a poo does creep.

It nags and taunts me like a spoilt brat.
It feels like a lump of soiled brown fat.

Quick as a flash I leap from bed.
It’s time to make this poo dead!

I shoot it from the three point line.
I didn’t bother taking my time.

I’m not even sitting on the throne.
It hits the mark, this game I own.

And with that swish the poo is long gone.
The game begins again at the crack of dawn.

Pure Pooetry

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