The Fart Poem

THE FART POEM A rose is a rose By any other name. A fart is a fart, It smells the same. A puff of air From a dainty derriere, A blast of gas From a hairy ass. The smell of beans Passing through your jeans, A deadly silent sleeper, Bottle it! It's a keeper. Of course, there are some Who look down on the fart, Considering it rude, Instead of art. A burst of methane From the criminally insane. A wet one, Don't want to get one. A foul discharge From uncontrolled bowels. The scum of the sphincter Crude, nasty, vile stinker! But such criticism Is most unfair. It's not as if farters Are putting on airs. They're proud on what comes From their faithful rectums; And they don't give a hoot If some don't like their toot. And to their critics they proudly send A blast of hot, sulfurous wind. One past gasser said put on my tomb, He blew out a candle across the room. Parting shot: Some say a dinosaur fart Could shatter a boulder, tear it apart; But they died from the gas that out of them poured, Giving a new meaning to killed by assteroid. NOTE: This may very well be my last poem on Poetry Soup if I am banned by the censors. But that's ok. I just thought that in the midst of all the angst, misery, and depression (including mine) some might enjoy a hearty laugh. By the way, Benjamin Franklin loved fart humor. Wounded Healer Submitted 8/30/09 Written 10/16/08