Pooetry, The High Seas

The Seas of Doodoo Dread

Everyone’s angry cos I’ve been farting up a storm.
Do I need to take a dump or is this just the norm?

It’s as if a brown cloud hangs over my head.
Filling my nostrils with a sense of dread.

The southerly forecast advances to attack.
Wind blowing furiously from my crack.

From below comes thunderous blasting.
Scent tells I’ve not been fasting.

In the throne I drop the brown hail.
Choppy seas are no good to sail.

Inside this bowl a tidal wave swells.
And carries a terrible deep-sea smell.

An odious ocean pours from my cheeks.
And erupts with a bellowing shriek.

Dangerous are The Seas of Doodoo Dread.
So don’t go sailing on your bedspread!

Pure Pooetry

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