Poopy

The more that you stir it, the more it will stink
The higher it’s piled, the deeper it sinks
The more you proclaim it, the less that you know
The greater the load, the more pompous the show

When you throw it, it splatters
When you crush it, like jam it spreads out
When you fart, there’s always a danger that some might come out

Go home, and it’s with you as you walk through the door
If you don’t have enough, you can always make more
Give it to someone you love, and they’ll soon send it back
Released in your undies, it leaves a brown track

Now doctors won’t tell you what any t**d knows
The more that you eat, the bigger it grows
If it plugs up your butt, it can ruin your day
When nature comes calling, it’s best not to delay
So don’t blame it on God if your bowels should protest
For to him, what we call s**t is in fact one holy mess.

Reviews

[kentuck14]

Hey Dr. Dickey . . . in line with the medico, William Carlos Williams . . . writing poetry between patients.
Have you ever given a poem scratched out on a prescription sheet by accident and have the person come back and thank you, cause he/she was feeling much better?!
Tom