A Pantload

I really can’t hold it, oh, what should I do,
A dreadful concoction brewing within,
In a matter of moments the air will be blue,
Clenched and contorted, I squeeze it back in.

A dreadful concoction brewing within,
While my boss keeps talking, won’t let me go,
Clenched and contorted, I squeeze it back in,
He won’t know what hit him, no reprieve when I blow.

My boss just keeps talking, won’t let me go,
Even calling me back when I try to depart,
He won’t know what hit him, no reprieve when I blow,
Thank the Lord, it’s just a wet fart.

Calling me back when I try to depart,
In a matter of moments the air will be blue,
There is no Lord, it’s not a wet fart,
I really can’t… oh crap, I’ve got a pantload of poo.


Written for Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest (2022/02/04) at chelowens.com

Written for Fandango’s One Word Challenge at This, That, and the Other
Word: Reprieve (2022-02-13)

Photo Credit: Unknown.
Copyright 2022 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

6 thoughts on “A Pantload

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