A Whiff Of Truth Poem by chris dawson

What sets us apart
is the way which we fart,
and the sound that goes hand in hand.
Whether silent or loud,
the resultant gas cloud,
defines the then state of our band.

Tight, pert n dry
you can pop one out sly
and hope that it just doesn't smell.
But loose and too slack
then there's no turning back,
cos it's obvious all is not well.

Now if you're a bloke
you can make it a joke,
though it's likely to draw the odd whinge.
But controlled girlie ‘phuts',
from cute little butts,
are likely to cause you to cringe.

There can be satisfaction,
enjoyable distraction,
from a moment alone with one's own,
why do we enjoy,
and it's not just the boys,
be it timid or wild cyclone

We giggle, we laugh,
when it blows off the graph
and registers the Richter scale,
it amuses us more,
and we simple adore,
when those closest to us go pale.

But silent is best,
once we've made a small test
to see if it's safe to let go,
it's the secret we hold,
as it starts to unfold,
that makes us quite proud down below.

And then who's to blame
in this bottom burp game,
as a circle appears round that space.
And each one in turn
looks to find one to spurn,
whilst checking for guilt in the face.


Now back to the girls,
those dear little pearls
of innocent, sweetness and light,
they never, they claim,
and I find this quite lame,
do such things themselves, hmm yea rite!