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Pooetry

Post-Lunch Rumbles

I’ve got the post-lunch rumbles.
Gradually my willpower crumbles.
Holding it in with all my might.
But the brown must take flight.
Alas, with my belt buckle I fumble.

Obviously I made it to the loo.
But I’m here for an urgent number two.
I can’t get my ass free of cloth.
Time crawls slower than a sloth.
I’m risking pants explosion of poo!

The tension is climbing like a mountain.
These rumbles, will I ever be surmounting?
With my cheeks clenched I twist and turn.
But it only makes the brown butter churn.
Until I can feel the onset of a fecal fountain.

“Screw it!” I rip my shorts apart like The Hulk.
The plastic seat smashes into my bulk.
Shit blasts downward like The Apoolo 13.
From the cubicle next door I hear a scream.
And out the bathroom door I hear them skulk.

Pure Pooetry

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