Fart – the angel of misery, a friend of Death
by Roger Mugs
he’s clothed in grey and hangs
with death until death waves his
scythe in disgust trying to wave
away the scent he carries.
like a Pig-Pen floating in the sky
the dirt moves around with him
carrying a scent he loves to
bring to children and men of all ages.
he had a brief visit with my mother
who claimed he smelled of perfume
when with her. a lie i believed until
i was much too old.
on dates in high school he’d visit and
torment me to hassle me through the
evening laughing in mockery as i consumed
linguine with my date. till the moment
i dropped her off at night, loosened my pants
and sighed a sigh of relief as he
screaming. “see you tomorrow!”