Oct 19 2005
My Ass
My Ass
by Sander Roscoe Wolff ©
My ass offends.
Its crass, my ass,
Releasing gas as
Passers by vie for
Fresh air.
My dairy aire
Has no savoir-faire,
And doesn’t care
If Queen or President or Wife
Is near.
This rear of mine
Can open wide and,
Some do swear,
Can sing a tune and,
Like the Beatles,
Make girls swoon.
I don’t eat ice cream,
Cheese, or beans.
I wear those extra thick blue jeans.
My ass and I hope,
Some day soon,
That Beano will begin to work
So that my wife will
Let me sleep inside the house.
I’m not a jerk.
I’m not a louse.
It’s just that
My ass is crass.
My social life has all but died
Because my friends think
Some ghastly thing has crawled inside
My GI tract. This is, in fact, not true
Because my doctor checked.
With friends like these,
Who needs enemas?