What I Had For Dinner

On the nether side of the stomach lies
Long lengths of tubing and food's demise,
Which journeys toward its last goodbyes;
And through the tubes the moosh flows by
Until it's time to squat;
With a grimace you keep on reading,

Glad you're not too busy eating

Though you think you might throw up,
Or maybe throw a clot.

Faces whiten, bowels quiver,

Little "breezes" dusk and shiver
(You wonder what I had for dinner)

Through my colon, past my liver
Flowing down to the pot.
The stroganoff was quite delicious,
But the morning after it was vicious,
And I know where to lay the blame:
The Undercooked Shallot.









Thanks to the Baron, without whose exquisite title this post would have been entirely possible.