Ode to a smear of yellowish pus I found on the toilet paper after wiping my ass this morning.

I sat, half awake, stunned
By my inability to complete BoxWorld puzzle number 17
Pushing boxes around
And depositing the last
Of yesterday’s chicken wings
I leaned forward, with a wad of wipe, and made my first scrape;
A smooth and easy cleanse, needing
Only a second to make sure
So I dropped, and
Wrapped three sheets (two ply) around my palm
Before taking the sachet of bumwipe
And daubing carefully
And felt a curious pain
I don’t often buy
The best asswipe on earth
But slivers? There seemed to be something amiss,
And as I retrieved the pad from my nether regions
Noted a slimy trail of pus
Next to the bacon strip I’d made there
Twin racing stripes of yellow and brown
Like Wyoming’s School Colors
On a field of white
No sliver had pierced my tender taint,
I caught a stray wild hair
And pulled it like a ripcord on a zit
And schmeared the goo on the paper
I moved to the shower to wash,
Cleaning and rinsing, with exploratory squeezing, to
Make sure the magic moment had passed
All gone, a drop of blood confirmed the worst was over
I washed and rinsed and dried,
Placed a dab of neosporin
Hoped you’d not mind if I
Didn’t take pictures.

With apologies to Doug Adams and Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz.