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Never Trust a Fart After Radiotherapy

Before my treatment, life was grand,
A fart was something I had planned.
A gentle puff, a harmless breeze,
Released with confidence and ease.

But then came rays, those healing beams,
And shattered all my bowel-based dreams.
The doctors cured what needed fixing,
While leaving my insides quite perplexing.

Now every rumble, every squeak,
Requires a cautioned, careful peek.
For what once seemed a simple choice,
Now makes my underpants rejoice…

Or weep.

A gurgle starts, a pressure grows,
You think you’ve learned how this thing goes.
You lean a cheek and take your chance,
Then suddenly begin a dance.

The sprint upstairs becomes a race,
With mild panic upon your face.
Each step accompanied by prayer,
“Dear Lord, please let me make it there!”

I’ve learned some lessons, hard and fast,
From incidents I’d rather past.
The first and greatest, without doubt:
If you’re unsure, don’t let it out.

For radiotherapy’s strange gift,
Can cause one’s standards all to shift.
And men once brave in war and strife,
Now fear a fart with all their life.

So here’s a toast to fellow blokes,
Who laugh at these unfortunate jokes.
We’re healing well, and that’s the chart,
But never, ever trust a fart.