Digestive Rebellion

A meal ought not its eater fight…

A meal ought not its eater fight;
it ought, instead, bring much delight,
but sometimes meals do feisty get
and in the bowels stay too wet
or think they’re sand and get too dry
and make you want to run and cry
or outgas like there’s no tomorrow
and bring the eater grievous sorrow,
with smells that diss your human rights
and belches that put out the lights
or make you sit upon the potty
and spank your insides like you’re naughty.
And dare I mention of the doo-doo
that looks as if an act of voodoo
upon the eater has been cast
when the meal’s expelled at last?
Too late; I did. But you did laugh
and thus redeemed my prior gaffe.
And though my meal was not so pleasant
—(not to eat, but just to pass)
out came this poetic present
along with what came out my ass.