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Ode to Parfum Natural

A poem about breaking wind

 

It is my only birth;

One hundred times a month.

Gives no pain, no tears

(unless of laughter);

There are no cries, no matter born

(unless misjudged).

 

My billowed baby knocks!

My ope: it shan't deny.

The scene is fair for bearing;

Conditions seem aligned...

 

Blow, my cosmic wind! Howl!

The stuff of bygone stars;

Its hue of ancient oak.

 

My fleshy cushions clap;

They slap and squeal

In original voice;

A sound and sensation

Thus far unknown,

Even to myself...

A high-note heckle?

A low and shameless sob?

A soft and soundless sigh?

 

Whatever my song,

My body

once more

at peace.

Image credit: (cc) Gregor Črešnar, Noun Project

Edward Wolstenholme

About the Writer

Edward is an actor who trained at the Oxford School of Drama. His acting credits include on film: Wonder Woman;  in theatre: Disgraced (English Theatre Frankfurt), Casa Valentina (Southwark Playhouse), American Buffalo (Wyndham's Theatre, West End), Unidentified Item in the Bagging Area (Old Red Lion).

 

His Twitter feed is @EWolstenholme

 

 

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