BOMB (c)

The play was a bomb!
Not like an explosion,
more like a stink-bomb.
Not a stink bomb like
when Uncle Ernie’s
outhouse blew up
because cousin Jimmy
dropped a cherry-bomb
into the hole, igniting the
methane gas, blowing the crap
and wads of toilet paper
all over the place and
even took the wood plank
door off its leather hinges.
In fact, the play would have
been better, had the stage exploded,
and the actors stood facing the
audience with surprised
soot covered faces.
This bomb would have elicited
applause, and laughter instead
of groans and moans of a bomb
that failed to ignite.
No, this bomb of a play
was more of a fart-in-church
type of bomb. Before you knew it
the smell of something awful
came creeping up on you
leaving you to look around, hoping to
find the culprit, praying no one
thinks it’s your fault, that kind of bomb.
When a play is a bomb, you
want to ask for your money back
and get the effluvium
dry cleaned from your mind
with a stiff drink and rousing
commentary with friends.
But no, you walk
out wishing you had the
courage to release the bomb
building up in you intestines
from the baked beans you ate for dinner.
A righteous and just comment on a
stinking play, or so you think.