The Acrid Smell Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

The Acrid Smell



The acrid smell creeps out
Of the fine fabric about
The composed mistress
Who sits in deep distress.

For she knows, as others will
Soon discover as well,
That something foul is afoot
In this most holy religious spot.

No noise, this time is uttered,
To forewarn others of what is to be encountered,
For she has secretly shifted her hips
To ease the birthing of these slips.

But nature has its way
To release pressure; not to stay
For otherwise the buildup would destroy
The silence of the cathedral's arbor.

Even Jonathan Swift could not
Nor could John Arbuthnot,
Disguise the essence of the day
Of a fart released this way.

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