Fred thought it would be funny and hip,
If spontaneously he could let one rip.
Fred was desperate to become a part of the crowd,
He thought he could accomplish this by blowing one loud.
Fred yearned for people to think he was smart,
He thought he could prove it by intelligently shaping the tone of his fart.
Fred longed for his companions to think he was musically skilled,
And with the sound of his fart he wanted to have the room filled.
Fred knew that the aroma he would exude
Would have to be determined by what was in his food.
He spent the entire day cooking up a meal,
A combination his stomach was sure to feel.
Fred put beans in his chili,
And shook his Coca-Cola silly.
He ate more than thirty prunes,
Boy was he ever going to wipe out those goons!
A half-hour later he was ready to cut the cheese.
A man of style, he decided to position himself on his hands and knees.
Into the air he pointed his ass,
With tremendous power he shot that gas.
But much to his dismay,
All of Fred's friends quickly ran away.
Full of misery and gloom,
Fred sat alone in the room,
Deserted because he had cleared it with a boom.
For hours his friends were living in fear,
For minutes they would not come near,
Despising the stench that came out of his rear.
Blowing wind didn't make Fred cool.
Boy, did he ever feel like a fool.
It's a shame he spent so much time on a show,
How hard he tried to be accepted, people will never know.
After all, it wasn't poetry or art.
For God's sake, it was just a fart!
Michelle Wong