8 July 2012
Some of my finest thoughts are conceived upon the bog. Contemplating life around me as I excrete the morning log.
While carrying out the daily ablutions Some major problems find solutions.
My colon disagrees with me, it really hates my diet, Not as healthy as I used to be, I don't recommend you try it.
Plates of meat and the odd spicy curry Means my ritual can not be hurried.
Much grunting and sphincter muscle action, Tilting buttocks up a fraction.
Minutes pass and the stench increases As the bowl fills up with steaming feces.
My family know what I'm like, but I still hate to admit, That I've blocked the loo again with a triple barrelled shit.
Worse of all is yet to come, I must fix what I have done.
A plunger would be great I'm told But I make do with my Marigolds.
Excreta • Opuss № I