my poetry

She told me not to eat it. It had sat around all night.
Now it ripped its way through me- I hate it when she’s right.
I rushed the john. I dropped my pants and aimed my behind down.
Too soon! I missed. The wall did splat and make a mighty sound.
I grabbed a towel to clean my mess but found it wasn’t bad.
With depth my ass had told a tale on tile that made me glad.
This had to be put on film to share it with all Mankind.
When I came back to take a snap, I found in there my wife.
“NO! Don’t do it!” I begged as she sprayed the rag to wipe.
She said to me, “It’s only shit, brown and gross and ripe.”
“It speaks of Mankind’s plight,” I said, “and of Mankind’s pain.
You cannot understand what my ass is trying to say.”
Again she said, “It’s only shit that needs to be removed.
To keep it here for all to see in no way I’ll approve.”
I to her, “When first we met, I did not think you dense
But great art before you stands. Of this you have no sense.”
“No sense,” she said, “I’ve more than you for I see it’s only shit!”
” ‘No’, I say. It’s Man’s great trek and how his soul’s unfit.
This splotch shows him naked, ashamed before the Earth.
This one,” I went on, “shows the darkness of our birth.”
“BUT IT’S ONLY SHIT!” she cried, “You see what e’er you want.
‘IT’S ONLY SHIT,’ I say for you’re not some great savant!”
“You don’t know art,” I said to her. “Let’s put this thing to rest
We’ll call on those who claim to know what art is really best.”
We called on five who claimed to judge the truth with in all art.
The first one who came and saw called it bold and with great heart.
The second came and said it lacked of anything mature.
The third was touched by its dark view of human souls impure.
The fourth came claiming it was a copy of one he saw in France.
The fifth needed to break the tie came in and gave a glance,
My wife yelled, “Tell him it’s shit” To which he said, “You’re right.”
I shouted back, “I won’t be wrong. Don’t help her win this fight.”
“I did not say that you were wrong,” the critic then chimed in,
“But you crapped it out. It is shit, In this your wife will win.
But is it art? That’s up to you and your wife to surely judge
Whether you decide to clean it off or keep your walls afudged.
I’ve been to lands far and wide and seen shit on many walls
Is yours better or worse? I cannot make that call.”
He left us there perplexed as hell not knowing what to do.
So we flipped a coin to let the gods decide our bathroom view