Читать книгу The Storyteller - J. Michaels - Страница 11

The crowds gathered at sunrise

To witness the annual event

The gathering of all great gas bellies

Belching here and there they went

Warming up for the day’s competition

Drinking soda, beer, and air

Hoping to inflate sufficiently

And retain the belches spared

The crowds grew large and clamored for more

Of the greatest belchers Belgium had ever known

This tiny country with little claim to fame

Playing host to intestinal foam

The contest began at last

Belchers facing belchers

Under glaring spotlights

Amid frantic fans of gas

Louder and grosser the combatants became

Hours of burping took their toll

Bodies lay limp and depleted

Lesser ones belched out and spent

Those left standing all but exhausted

Until at last only two remained

The best of the belchers in Belgium land

They squared off and faced each other

Each determined to out belch the rest

Rangus McGee, the reigning champ

From the isle of green and Guinness

Facing Big George of England

Self taught at London’s finest pubs

Rangus went first as custom bound

Drank his pint and held his breath

Leaving the crowd cheering and waiting

For the inevitable blast at last

The tension mounted as Rangus held on

Face turning red as the hair on his head

The great belch on its way now

Unfettered, it roared from his mouth

Silence followed the belch supreme

The fans stunned and amazed

At what Rangus had rendered that day

A belch for the ages, leaving all dazed

Rangus now done and quite pleased

With the performance of a lifetime

Confident he had conquered

Yet another opponent less ventilated

Big George stood and hushed the crowd

His size and belly, both quite grand

He took no beverage, no aid of any kind

Simply reared back and belched his all

That left none standing, nor windows intact

Big George stood surveying the mess

That his extraordinary flatulence created

He had bested the best

Poor Rangus deflated

Defeated at last

From the poetry collection Common Ground