Lake folk seem so very restive
When my gas blasts most oppressive
(meaning I’m at my most impressive).
Hearing toots from our cabin door
Birds claw for altitude high
Or stay aground and surely die.
Around the lake we hear at times like this
Cursing, gagging, screams of shit!
As the fart makes pernicious rounds
Such flatulence and the pain it wreaks
Is reviled by people week upon week.
It begins with gasping, open anger and recedes
To hushed whispers, talk of dirty deeds,
To hunt down the culprit – he or she
It remains to be seen-o,
Tie them down to anthills on distant ground
And waterboard them with Beano.