by Mark Olival-Bartley
The jalapeño marinara sauce?
Hilarious. That scatty fit
sure showed me who was boss,
for to emit
whose fodder tore
a summoner's gale of glee
to something wicked and hard-core,
had flushed the dun Chaucerian from me.
That said, the brownies laced with--what a cross,
a pound of laxative chocolate
and tons of E--rushed loss
as is befit
a sulphured shore,
abuts a murky sea
where Dantesque waves (and so much more)
revealed what crap had lain inside of me.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.