Michael's Malady
Michael McTavish had recalcitrant bowels
That would not be emptied without screams and howls.
His mother tried Allbran and licorice twigs,
Castor oil, olive oil, syrup o'figs.
"Ow! it's stuck fast," poor Michael wailed,
"I've tried all your medicine and it has failed."
Gran tried her concoction that tasted quite ugh !
But that wouldn't make our fine hero unplug.
They tried x-o-lax, dulcolax, senocot too
But all they produced was a terrible phew !
Aunt Min brought a pessary, put it in his bum,
He blew it back out but the shit did not come.
As Michael grew older his pain did not cease
As a young man he still had no means of release.
Once a month Michael, with a novel, would squat
While Mum served his dinner, lunch & tea on the pot
But loudly the voice of the plumber complains
That for miles and miles, Michael had bunged up the drains.
One day Dad decided that he'd had enough
The women had blown it, so he'd do his stuff,
Mum watched and she worried, was this a mistake,
As Dad stormed down the street, dragging Mike in his wake.
When they returned later Mike crept off to bed
With one hand on his belly, one holding his head.
Next morning at daybreak, screams came from the loo.
"Oh, Dad," Mike's mum cried, "just what did you do?"
Then mum realised that Mike was not in pain
He was chortling with glee, over and over again.
"Ha!" said Dad proudly, "My cure cannot fail
There's nowt like a gallon of Best British Ale."
All he has to do now is get rid of the headache.
