I’m 37 and 1 Day

I’m in a new place

With post B day poo

Dropping down deuces in this rather nice space

Hitting it up, in a new to me loo.

Dessert, drowning in chocolate and topped

With gold leaf.

Poo, not nice but not the worst I’ve dropped

To be brief.

And now I’ll check out the wipe

And hope it ain’t lame

But if I know the type…

It’s horribly the same.

The Truth

It was, a little messy

This poo today.

In fact, it’s best we

describe it another way:

Pure. Liquid. Shit.

Milk of Magnesia

Woken by the street sweeper

My brain is barely working

My butthole started jerking

This poo was not a keeper

It demanded release

At 339 in the AM

Who knows if I’d have played’em

If my sleep did not suffer decrease


Wow, what a log

Honestly, I concerned.

It’s a big boss hog

Of junk food eaten and earned.

I amazed it came out

And that I’m not town and bloody

The size of an arm or there about

And the water looks quite muddy

Plus an army of little turds

Slowly join him in the bowl

Like Little minions he herds

from the depths out the hole.

Panic at the Shit though

No TP!

I knew it too.

I had plenty of time from she

Who tells me what to do.

But I tarried and delayed

With nothing to wipe

My bleeding butthole splayed

Panic as I sit here and type.

Into the shower

I must go to get clean

And next when I have the power

I’ll prevent such a scene.

Real talk

A moment of truth about the state of my bum

There’s been some tearing that’s got me quite glum

Anal fissures is the technical term

They hurt real bad making me squirm

There’s bleeding with the pain

That screams in my brain

And I hate that dread my daily poo

Because I love penning poems from me to you.

What’s in a name

Let me be Frank

This poop…well, it’s nothing great

If I’m Earnest, it’s nothing to rank

Hi or low, it doesn’t get a rate

Surely, that’s not true

I’m betting you say

But really, it’s a Luke warm poo

At the end of the day.