The Mysterious Sog

Stuck between my cheeks,
And leaving some streaks…

A soggy lump did sit.
It wasn’t a full shit.

But rather a slip up.
An accidental backup.

I thought it was just a fart.
Instead, dirty brown art.

A tiny wet nugget, disdainful.
I feel oh so shameful.

My drawers will need a good scrub.
To remove this filthy ex-grub.

So I make a dash to the loo.
To inspect this ghost poo.

And it was just that…
No lump of brown fat.

I coulda sworn a caca-convict escaped.
Didn’t it feel grossly egg-shaped?

I must be imagining shitty things.
When my southern ring sings.

I pray this doesn’t happen to me again.
No pretend eggs from this foul hen.

Pure Pooetry

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