The Choice

Oh no.
Here we go.
This is what it means
To eat the refried beans.

I’m not the only one
To think outside the bun,
But oh I wonder how
To keep it inside now.

Do I squeeze my cheeks together?
Hold it back with sphincter pressure?
Leave the room and let it out,
I am filled with more than doubt.

The Dutch call it an oven,
Others, making muffins.
Then there’s cutting cheese,
But none are meant to please.

I don’t know what to do.
My face is turning blue.
Surrounded and outnumbered,
Like a calf amongst the herd.

I’m looking for a way
That I can get away,
And push this bubble through
My denim that is blue.

I decide that I will leave
Because I do believe
That farting in a crowded room
Will bring about my social doom.

I take two steps and stop,
This thing is going to pop.
Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft
The silent mushroom cloud.

Noses start to notice
That ain’t the sacred lotus
But the acrid stench of gas
Why won’t they let me past?

My face is cherry red,
Noxious fumes invade my head.
Let me out, LET ME OUT

And then I woke up. 

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