“Tell me what you’re thinking; you shouldn’t hold it in.”
Thus the last words I remember just before the din.
I broke my feelings as requested, all my thoughts imparted.
Unsatisfied, she then replied: “I can’t believe you farted.”
I thought to speak, then thought again, as she continued speaking;
My wind had broken all at once, while hers continued leaking.
Accustomed to the daily gale, I didn’t mind the talking,
But I was growing quite concerned that we should so some walking.
The utterance I’d shared had overtaken all our air;
The bubble from my colon now had swollen past repair.
This it was that had me in a state of blank despair.
Yet she resisted moving, as though bent to hold us there.
Soon it was I sensed her meaning, furthering our grief.
With whoopie-cushion flutter and a look of vast relief,
My lady changed the color of her white-no-longer briefs,
Then left me gasping in the cloud, from more than disbelief.
(And aren’t you kinda glad I didn’t try to rhyme with “qu**f”. 😉 )