There has been a tradition of writing poems about passing gas, farting or as it’s called with a more posh word, flatulence.
When I write I often need to take breaks in my writing to let my mind do something else. Today it became an Ode to the fine art of passing gas in public.
Ode to flatulence
Goodbye agonising stomach pain, say farewell beloved flare.
A disemboweled odor is about to pollute the air.
The moment of uncertainty is thrilling, yet brings a scare.
Will it smell? Or will I get away with my treacherous dare?
What if the surrounding company expose what I have planned.
Will I have to walk the plank or simply from the town be banned?
Ah well, best let it rip. There is no holding back now.
Maybe I can disguise it with the sound of an ape, parrot or cow?
No! A loud cough will do just fine in this crowd of innocents.
Now, slightly lift a foot to ease the passing of the gas of scents.
Oh dear, what a smell. You’d think someone died.
Better run, better escape, better hide.
Author: Jonas Angleflod