Dedicated to my precious cousin, an IBS sufferer, without whom I would never have the keen appreciation that I do for my own regularity.

***An IBS Christmas***

It probably does seem myopic
juxtaposing this bad topic
with icons of Christmas cheer and joy.

But I am not a boorish bloke
and IBS is not a joke.
I wish to raise awareness, not annoy.

When peristaltic ebbs and flows
that do affect both core and nose
induce a life of restriction and worry

because one rues the dreadful day
that containment slips away
sending all nearby into a scurry

afraid of the green mistletoe
haunted by a colon blow
that could evacuate both bowel and room

knowing odorific holly
brownished isn’t very jolly
like the holly bedecked in that tune

I say to all those so afflicted
you must never get addicted
to a life of solitude and shame.

Fear not that on Christmas night
your difficult digestive blight
might make your friends guffaw and curse your name.

Instead vow to stand firm and free
right next to your tall Christmas tree
with head upright and shoulders back and proud!

Just keep the tree inside the loo
and shut the door for number two
so others will not hear you if it’s loud.

© 2017