Several years ago, I dressed up as Cousin Eddie for my annual holiday card and wrote a poem titled, “Ode to Poo.” It was widely regarded as my best holiday poem ever. Today I decided to write a little poem about poo’s predecessor, farts. Unlike boogers, I don’t have a love/hate relationship with farts. I just hate them. I don’t often fart, even in private, unless it’s accidental. Why just the other day I was straining to reach something on the top shelf of my hallway closet. As I stretched and stretched, out came an innocent little fart. Well, it turned out to be not so innocent. I thought to myself, “That felt a little wet.” So I headed to the bathroom, dropped my drawers, and sure enough, I’d sharted. I guess that’s something I should expect more often since turning 50. Good times. 😊 💩
Farts
Inspired by flatulence
They’re sneaky little devils,
‘Cause they’re only made of air.
They live for fleeting moments,
Caught within our underwear.
Sometimes they’re released willingly,
But other times they’re not.
And when it’s unexpectedly,
We hope we won’t get caught.
They could arrive in silence,
Or a thunderous uproar.
The biggest question though,
Is what smell will they have in store?
The silent can be deadly,
But the loud ones might be too.
We simply do not know,
And there is nothing we can do.
Though he who smelt it dealt it,
There are those who shift the blame.
They claim another farted,
But the lies they tell are lame.
Let’s proudly own our flatulence.
Calm down, and get a grip.
Just lift your leg in public,
And then really let one rip!
But let’s be careful out there.
When you’re squeezing out that fart,
Be sure you don’t push too hard,
Or you’ll wind up with a shart. 😊 💩
