(London, United Kingdom)
It stinks of poo when I’m at the park zoo;
thank god it’s in a cage; not the heel of my shoe.
If evolution worked; they’d be on the loo,
behind closed doors for a number two.
When it’s ripe; the stinky type,
excavate the pipe; with a whistle and a wipe.
Don’t delay, or dare display,
the process of the food’s from yesterday.
Walking home, I trod in shit!
Filling up my tread; it’s the perfect fit.
Angry at the muck, up the side of my shoe,
I didn’t sense the bird which above me flew.
Until I felt the thud, the warmth of its goo,
I wish I was back, at the stinky park zoo.