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Pooetry

Prickly Pete / Stuck in The Mud

This blocked turd defies gravity.
Stuck fast, drives me to insanity.
Heaving, I grunt and groan,
Then release a desperate moan.
Oh the poomanity!

Now my legs have gone numb,
Cos this shit won’t exit my bum.
So I start pleading with this poo,
“Was there something I didn’t chew?”
“Please do me a favour, brown chum.”

I must get rid of this foul meat.
It certainly doesn’t smell sweet.
In fact it feels rather prickly.
A sensation far too sickly.
It must be wearing cleats.

I’m without a paddle up shit creek.
Now my knees are feeling weak.
This spiky shit has cast it’s anchor.
It feels like a stubborn, shifty banker.
Clinging steadfast inside my cheek.

So close to leaving my rump,
I can feel the gooey lump.
Stuck like mud it doesn’t budge.
There’s no relief from this sludge.
I’m going to need the vacuum pump.

Pure Pooetry

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