Written by: Jon A Cavanaugh

The heavy foods that I've ingested
Have settled in my gut and nested
And from within I clearly hear
The sound of an eruption near

The steak, the beans, the curly fries,
The chicken soup, assorted pies
Straight to my gut a drink escorted
But soon I fear will be deported

To uncertain fate these foods convicted
To be digested or evicted
I'm sick from this volcanic mix
Which I hope a pill will fix

I drive out to the pharmacy
And rush in for the remedy
Surprised by an expected mess
I must go home and there re-dress