Scott and I spent Sunday afternoon tending to the tedious task of reorganizing/purging our storage room. The storage room had become an endless abyss for clutter—filled with cardboard boxes and trash bags stuffed with miscellaneous surplus from our move two years earlier.
Just entering the room would make Scott’s pulse race and armpits sputter. If you don’t know this already, Scott becomes very frenzied and irritable around large quantities of disarray.
In an effort to pacify his need for order, we bought clear plastic storage bins at Target on Friday. Now everything is packed away in an orderly fashion and the boxes are transparent so we can easily see their contents. This was a daunting task that we are happy to have behind us.
Sorting through the boxes, we came across many gems—old love notes, Jr. High yearbooks, and this poem that I composed for Scott on his 22nd birthday as a part of an elaborately constructed, homemade poetry book. This was the final poem I wrote for the compilation. Enjoy!
This is the big shebang,
I should say something to make you shutter,
A poem to conclude a birthday gift
should be more than fanciful clutter.
I’ve written about love in every single piece,
and at this point the facts are clear--
you are loved madly without cease.
So now I change the subject,
to something different and brand new,
hopefully it will make you giggle
and you’ll read it through and through.
I am not sure if everyone does this?
Or if it’s specific to our relationship,
but I wouldn’t recommend asking for guidance or for tip.
Something that I’ve noticed,
that has gradually come about,
is that you’re always farting--
be it through your butt, your hand, or mouth.
Sometimes we’ll be walking and you’ll pump my hand real hard,
suddenly a little noise will escape that resembles a little fart.
Other times we’re meandering with nothing much to do,
and all the sudden you’ll lift your leg and let out one or two.
More disturbing are the times when I lean in to give a kiss,
but instead of finding warm welcoming lips,
I am met by a puff of air and spit.
The bliss of farting is so grand,
even if it’s mock farts performed by the mouth and hand.
Charming it’s not; elegant it will never be,
instead it was developed for one reason:
to bring a smile to the face of you and me.
