The Royal Flush

King Shit rules from his porcelain throne.
And I the lowly servant wipe his tailbone.
Cleaning the royal dunnies are my duty.
So I farewell and flush his regal doodie.
But it fails to swim away and so I groan.

Damn you King Shit and your southern parts!
I try again with a stronger water blast.
A mammoth wedding banquet was its fuel.
And now it exists in the form of gruel.
But its holding firm, stubborn and steadfast.

Even a double flush is not good enough…
To rid the bowl of his royal, rancid mush.
I stand and wait for the water to be still.
Then once the upper tank has refilled…
Another flush, but still remains the sick stuff.

How on earth will I flush this deuce?
It’s a majestic solid mass, not runny juice.
Please don’t force me to use the brush.
I mustn’t waste water with sixth flush.
I wish his highness’ turd would vamoose!

Instead, I came up with the poofect plan.
Why discard something so marvellous and grand?
When all the kingdom’s subjects could come see…
The King’s brown glory and majesty.
His heinous doo is placed on this display stand!

Pure Pooetry

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