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Pooetry

Stink Begone!

Cubicle next to me is now occupied.
Some grubby sneakers below I spied.
I hear the sound of splashing rocks.
I imagine the brown is heavy blocks.
I catch a whiff and then I cried.

I’m lucky that I’m close to done.
All that’s needed is to wipe my bum.
So I finish quickly before I gag.
I wish I had an oxygen bag.
For this reek is the opposite of fun.

I make liberal use of the fragrant spray.
I imagine particles in a violent fray.
Clashing with the evil stink.
Bad smells downward sink.
“We breathe again!” My lungs will say.

Pure Pooetry

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