Bubbling up from my curdling stomach,

Something unsettled slurries inside.

Soft at the onset, but compounding, ominous,

Cautioning not to make light of this churning internal

Rejection of quinoa and chickpeas and onions.

A match catches striker pad, lighting my office,

Disguising malodorous secrets I’m hiding

With sulfur and wax, with lavender, pine.

Hark! There’s a knock! Unexpected intruder!

“Dammit,” I cringe, in a cloud of aromas:

Bile and sewer gas, perfume and smoke.

They stand there politely, a doorway dividing.

I try to decipher a hint of detection,

Distracted from all of the words being spoken,

Hope upon hope that I won’t be discovered.

An unholy process, intestinal truth:

One can’t keep a secret if the secret’s a toot.

I shut the door tightly after their leaving,

Relaxing my abdomen, breathing a sigh of relief

From everywhere tension was held.

It’s very embarrassing, being a person,

But that doesn’t mean I will watch what I eat.