the gas was running rife inside she said
a pressure better eased in subterfuge
than blatantly expelled – but what the
hell, he’d made her lose her usual cool
with snide remarks designed to press
his autocratic case so she rebelled and
with a show of token gratitude arose
and farted massively into his face
she wore a balmy grin’s relief at least
and saw his flawed chagrin a triumph
for her flatulence – he’d think again
before he hailed himself a saviour to
some handsome lass with whom he
shared adjacent seats aboard a plane
© 5 October 2011, I. D. Carswell
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