If I had three wishes that would really come true
My first one would be to beat dad to the loo.
I’m sure he eats something that’s different from me.
How else could that smell that’s from hell come to be?
Of course ALL poo smells; can’t argue with that
But this smell would pole-axe a sewer-going rat.
Yet dad doesn’t notice; reads the paper in peace
Whilst in the air all about him the toxins increase.
He laughs when mum calls me to go and get my wash
As he flushes the toilet with a deep throated splosh.
He knows I am gagging and that is before
He sets free the bum gas when he opens the door.
Give it ten minutes he says with a wink
And my nose curls with anguish, assailed by the stink.
Throw open the windows and throw away caution
And spray antiperspirant cans to exhaustion
I breathe through my mouth but to think I’m inhaling
Those vapours of dad’s, my health must be ailing.
Give it ten minutes? Oh don’t make me laugh
The toilet’s off limits for an hour and a half. Steve Blakesley © September 2008
Taid of Life 