There are mornings when I simply know
That my peace of mind is about to go
Go far away into a land unknown
A place before puberty I'd grown
These mornings are oft a monthly affair
Akin to being flung down many a-stair
They start with a heaviness absolute
Perhaps even a demented right boob
The soreness seems to penetrate
From epicenter down to prostate
And just when I thought it couldn't get worse
A horrendous dump knocks - an intestinal curse
In a fetal position, somehow I rise
As though in my eighties I'm nearing demise
Atop the pot my limbs give way
I'm only a torso, painful passageway
With stubborn emission I huff and heave
Giving myself a headache, would you believe?
I begin to count my body parts undone
My brain, my arms, my back for one
Also, my calves and shoulders and left knee
It's all a massive pile of hormonal debris
Rising once more, now in the mold of a squat
