Automatic Disgust

Automatic flushing is the worst.

It triggers every time I lean forward

Thinking about it makes me want to burst.

It ruins the pooping of which I look toward

It obviously kills

my poetic skills.

This poem isn’t good enough to be called shit

It’s not even an odorless fart!

It is completely, not art.

And that is, as they say, it.

 

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