Competition

We live by the harbor now and at night
The ships often blow their foghorns

She's a light sleeper she will leap up
Sitting straight up in bed
"DAMN!"

"what is it? what is it?"

"I thought you farted!"

"not that time, dear"

She is a good child living with me
Has disfunctioned her nerves
Actually I like to save up my farts for
The bathtub
Those grey bubbles waft up a magic stench

Farting is much like fucking:
You can't do it all the time but when you do
There oftentimes comes a feeling of proudness

As if your artistry in the act were a rare
And precious thing

I fart more than I fuck
And I fart better than I fuck
And I am pleased to be mistaken
For a foghorn in the middle of the night