We all do it; might as well laugh at it.
The food I eat, it matters not
In my gut it sits and rots.
From solid it goes to wicked gas
My body says it has to pass.
A phhhht here, a phhhht there,
People passing stop and stare.
Their eyes widen and mouths agape,
Strides quicken as they try to escape.
Another phhhht and I may faint,
Least will happen is I’ll repaint.
Even my nose says enough is enough
Intestines response is: ”Well that’s tough”
Tried all the pills, diets and more,
Now I package it, for the Marine Corp.
Non-lethal bombs, that’s what their called,
But should one leak, everyone’s sprawled.
Repackaging them works,
Just one of my quirks.
I consider it my national duty,
My friends, though, just consider it fruity.
If you liked this one, try:
Lmfao! I have a weird urge to pop a soda 
My old coarse but lovey grandfather used to say “He who smelt it dealt it”.
Love the earthiness of this poem… and the title too! Who could resist clicking on it! )
Stumbled! )
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