Jogger's Peril Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The very early hour is the best
for jogging, keeping up condition
as I was going, sleepily, just trotting west
as if I had been chosen for a crucial mission.

No one around to see how fast or slow I'm going,
or if I'm sweating, even stumbling, looking pale
the morning air condenses breath that I am blowing,
I am an athlete, full of power, proudly male.

Downhill it goes now, giving more vibration
and something slowly loosens in my inner gut,
and I can feel it, this developing sensation
as it meanders with a tickle, to my butt.

It is a thunderous explosion, with an echo,
a window opens and a lady peeks outside,
right in front of me, a stunned and frozen gecko
I briefly feel that it would be prudent to hide.

Yet, it's too late, as from the house a voice
comes, very loudly, with a smile wrapped all around
' If you think you will go faster, silly boys
through such an afterburn, it's only a loud sound.'