If I never hear you talking
from the shitter ever again,
If I never am privy
to your boisterous bathroom banter,
I think I will do just fine.
If I never have to sit,
while you are taking a shit,
and time the time
you spend making poopy crime,
I will be ok.
It has been two long years
and too long years
listening to your bowel movements
ringing in my ears.
And then you leave,
and the evidence does not deceive,
the foul stench of your treachery.
The spritz of cinnamon and apple
fails to cover the smell.
Glade does me no justice,
my desk is next to hell.
So please learn some consideration.
Do not come to work
and unleash your constipation,
both fecal and conversation.
I know more about you
from our chats on the throne,
the nightmares they leave make me groan.
I never asked for this,
or the damn fountain I hear when you piss.
I just want a quiet day,
not front row seats to
where your intestines play.
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