Peter perpetually found himself pissing
On poop-stains that painted the bowl,
Pete’s powerful pee-stream projected forth hissing,
Propelling with practiced control.
He fragmented floaters with frolicsome ease,
In a golden, mercurial dance,
Then he’d curse at the sky and he’d fall to his knees
When the splash-back would pepper his pants.
One thought on “Watch Where You’re Pointing That Thing”
Well doesn’t that flow nicely!