Is that air aft of you,
or will crappin’ ensue?
Henceforth, dung or fart?

Something happens behind—
do I smell a cheese rind?
Stench of dung or fart?

Will it flow, will it stream
from posterior seam?
Or will fingers be seen
with pinched noses between?

When knives through rind are slicing,
you get no nosegay.
“Cutting,” a metaphor for fart…
your friends run ’way.

If it will be a turd,
your undies will be blurred.
Sad, it’s dung, not fart.

The stitching will be marred
by a texture like lard
when it’s dung, not fart.

There’ll be a hue and cry it your undies aren’t dry.
To the loo…made a try.
“It’s too late!” friends decry.

Next time, get a headstart
before it departs.
Or let air be stunk up by not dung, but fart.