Coffee makes me poop – 1/17/01

Sitting alone in a booth
trying to ignore my tooth
Cup after cup, hour after hour
my bowels go sour at the food I devour
Over-hearing talks of strange discussions
making percussions wondering how many flushins
are to be needed to avoid the dilemma of a clog
and if Chewbacca would sink in a bog
Lungs are full of smog and the log
is begging for release as the police
watch me with suspicion in their eyes
I find myself at peace for I have no niece
and surprised at the swiftness of the chore
I began to bore of the situation
and the elongation of my stay at the destination
chosen to pass the time for I hadn’t a dime
to commit the crime of intoxication

1/17/01

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