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Pooetry

Make it a Large

I’m so damn proud of what I just produced…
An indescribable torpoodo from my caboose.

I heard the warning sirens like an air raid.
I knew it was going to be quite the fecal parade.

You see last night I ate a large HSP.
Smothered in sauce as far as the eye could see.

Tender chunks of lamb, chicken, cheese and chips.
A meal so glorious for a king it was fit.

But there was nothing royal about the meal’s stage two.
Thunderous exit the dreaded H.S.POO!

No scale could measure the gigantic weight.
Nor could it be transported by any way of freight.

It sat above the water and half down the pipe.
The sauce assisted, there was no need to wipe.

I pressed the flusher to fire the brown nuke.
If it flushed it was going to be a major fluke.

But it didn’t flush or move even a nudge.
So now in my toilet, there’s hard-boiled fudge.

Pure Pooetry

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