Poem

At social dinners I get bored
with talk of clothing, cars and jobs
A chance to change when I detect
that is when I interject
With bated breath, excited tone
of what I learned in the curezone
I tell of my unending glee
when first I had a real “butt pee”
Of herbs to help you make amends
and bring about a bowel cleanse
And when they speak of wedding gowns
and they pass the photos round
I shout that I have photos too
and show the contents of my loo
parasites who couldn’t cope
and twisted lengths of mucus rope
And when they think I’m done at last
I show them jars of stones I passed
I really want to tell much more
but they don’t invite me anymore
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