I’m feeling rather delicate;
perhaps it’s something that I ate.
My stomach’s complains bitterly
It churns and churns incessantly.

I’m feeling bloated full of gas,
the pressure builds but will no pass.
It is becoming serious
I’m feeling really nauseous.

Then suddenly I feel the urge
a desperate need to go and purge.
I go and sit upon the throne.
Ah. Such relief I’ve never known.

I get but little sympathy.
My wife declares that I should be
aware of my capacity.
That too much beer is bad for me.

She might be right I must admit
which does not mean I must like it.
I rather have some sympathy.
Perhaps a nice hot cup of tea.

ivor or ivor.e hogg

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aftermath-for-friend-thad/