A dozen gun salutes rattled
My stomach, a war zone
Am I a confirmed carrier of ammunition?
Or ballistic missiles?
Unbearable and tortuous
Couldn’t you show some respect
To a respected public figure
At least before his audience?
Questions fell on deaf ears
Missiles reassembled,battalion on red alert
Like a professional athlete preparing for Olympics
I made for the other office.
In my groaning and whimpering,
I cursed the roadside food vendor
A premier suspect in my present predicament
The building about to come down, did I care?
Contents of my stomach emptied
Glad that the intestines did not leave their duty post
Oh Diarrhoea! Oh Diarrhoea! Don’t ever visit me.
(c) Gabe O 2015