Saved this in drafts and forgot to post it. Apologies, oh ye teeming masses.
Many words worth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
With acid rain and no antacid pills,
When all at once I belched aloud
It was like several textile mills.
Around me several old ladies
Fell, coughing, to their knees.
It had shades of turpentine
And gutters on a summers day,
And bits of tripe — i.e. intestine —
And rotting fish in a stagnant bay.
Ten thousand slew I with that burp
Top that, Kid Billy, and Wyatt Earp!
Poison gasses kill, sure, but they
Are nothing to that awesome burst
Agent Orange had a nice bouquet
Compared to the smell that we produced.
I breathed deep but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
Oft, when on my commode I sit
Indigestion having driven me there,
Summoning up a good old .. never-mind,
And the sound and vapours fill the air;
The odours we produce are solid, tangible, big!
But that eructation that day was in a different league.
We have outdone ourselves, no?
Godawful Poetry Fortnight