Pardon Me
By Jo Fisher
Pardon me, for being so rude,
It was not me – nor my food;
I have this thing called IBS
That puts my innards to the test.
My dear old tummy cannot cope
With salty food, chips and coke.
Sometimes bread and pasta too
Can have me dashing to the loo.
IBS takes many forms,
It is unique – there are no norms;
Sometimes it’s provoked by stress,
With symptoms quite hard to assess.
Sensitive guts are a sensitive topic,
And sometimes symptoms are microscopic,
But one thing’s really vital, please,
Do not jeer, and do not tease
Gas and poop are stuff of jokes
And can be funny for some folks;
But think of those who must be wary
Of carbs and fat and salt and dairy.
It’s not our fault, this handicap,
Feeling bloated, sick and crap.
It’s an illness; a disease,
That brings us groaning to our knees.
Don’t be surprised when we ask you
If we could quickly use your loo
Within minutes of arrival;
It’s essential for survival.
