Windy The Poo

A gaseous emission slipped silently out

And nobody noticed a thing.

I sat in my seat, looking down at my sprouts,

And hoping the thing wouldn’t stink.

‘Cause sprouts may be known for their vitamin quote

But also they’re quite rightly famed

For their power to make a boy fart like a goat,

Although of course they’re never blamed.

And so, as you guessed, this one made itself known,

To the folks sitting all round the table.

To Nana and Gramps, Uncle Pete and Aunt Joan,

And especially Great Auntie Mabel.

Who wrinkled her nose, with a quizzical look,

To see if the dog was nearby.

While my father was quickest to bring me to book;

“Was that you?” I said, “No Sir, not I.”

But everyone said they knew very well who,

Well, you can’t really say it was Mabel,

Or Nana or Gramps, it was Windy the Poo!

(Yes my digestive tract is quite fabled).

And Windy the Poo danced around for a while,

As I stared red faced down at the ground,

Till on Aunt Mabel’s lips there appeared a sly smile,

From her backside, a raspberry sound.

“Don’t blame the poor lad,” she came to my aid,

These things really do have to come out.

I think it’s important; the point should be made,

We should blame the one who cooked the sprouts!

Well of course, in the light of this second example

Of colonic perfume at the table,

They all had to agree, the proof was quite ample:

Blame the cook, ‘cause you can’t blame Aunt Mabel.