Andy Wilson… Fish Farts

 

Fish Farts

She wanted to know. If I knew.
That my fart was going to smell as bad as it did.

Before I unleashed it.

I was picking at my toenails, trying to piece away the parts that were too long.

“Yeah, I did. I can usually tell how bad it will smell,

by how warm and heavy it is in my lower abdomen.”

She asked between wheezes.

Why, then, didn’t I even try to hold it in.

Because I am my father’s son.

And I was born from my mother.

You see, my dad was a captain.
strangled fish in nets and yanked them out of The Bering Sea.
6 months out of the year.
When he came home, he’d lay on the couch.
He never used toenail clippers, and I was amazed.
At how he could reach down, and rip off his toenails with just two fingers.
A manly man. who’d fart loudly.
And laugh about it from under his mustache.

Proudly unashamed.

His farts were obvious and harmless.
The family giggled at his horn butt.

Then turn back to the horror flick on T.V.

Then a creeping nightmare scent
would sneak under our noses.
We didn’t have to ask.
We already knew.
Because if you could put smells in the movies.
My mom’s farts would be the cloverfield monster.
A lovecraftian great old one.

Adapted for the screen.

And with ethereal nebulous tendrils it’d strangle brainstems.
Our minds would become desperate

for clean air. Gasping for sanity.

Mom would sit there.

A woman, silent. smiling in absolute victory.

That’s when I learned two things.

One, victory is signaled, not by ally horns.

But your enemies asphyxiated tears.

Two, the only person who farts as bad as me.

Is my mom.

Sometimes I know a fart’s going to be really bad.
By the way it thrashes in my belly.
Like fish. Made out of hot butter mixed with spoiled eggs.

Who knows fresh air will make him die.

And that’s why you see me. Here.
Unleashing Stomach Death.

Picking at my toenails.

Because I am just the reemergence of a pattern.

A salmon returning to spawn.

I brought back a belly of nets, full strangled farts captured.

And that’s why I didn’t even try. To hold it in.
And that’s why I’m here.
Farting.
Proudly unashamed.

And smiling in absolute victory.

My mom and dad showed me how.

 

Andy Wilson is a northwest native, poet, performer, writer, e-sports enthusiast, and modern day Ad-Man. He’s the author of: How Ugly Ads Make Millions, Advertising Made Easy. Performs frequently in Everett, but sometimes in Bellingham and Seattle too. Follow on Twitter: @AndyWilson22.

Copyright © 2014 by Andy Wilson

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

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