Poetry is a lot like IBS…

You think something is coming but after a lot of effort you’re often left with nothing.


Irritable Bowel Symphony

A rumbling stomach is the overture
To my irritable bowel symphony.
Followed by the wind section blowing
A most unmelodious harmony.
Then the percussion in my stomach
Crashes and beats in empathy.
While I conduct it all grimacing
From the toilet cubicles safety.