Watch Where You’re Pointing That Thing

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

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