THE SHIT

Running, he sits down, opens his nostrils, grabs the newspaper, strains, and tries.
Sweating cold, he feels bad, squeezes the newspaper, like any mortal. How about that?
It burns underneath, like an animal. Because of which everything always stays the same.
In a hurry, he tries to read. It's in the lines that he sees the country losing itself.
He feels the burning in his ass. He gets angry. The poor devil feels the pain in his ass.

What he reads will arrive from below. Shit, and he knows why. He believes everything is the same.
I'm just like you, powerless. At the mercy of the future. Seven feet under, that's what it will be.
Below the homeland, believe me. Every bigwig in the newspaper will die.
And we will die, you and I. There's no use running. Relax, the shit's gonna hit the fan.

His shriveled scrotum, he sees. He sweats a lot from straining. He keeps trying to read.
He strains, groans, and farts. He gathers courage and farts more. He strains and farts more.
The shit resists coming out, like a politician who doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay and insist.
He gets re-elected undeservedly and clings to power. He can do anything and wants to maintain it.

He feels powerless, but still believing, he strains, tightens his lower abdomen.
He laughs at himself. In the last resort, he thinks about giving birth. Letting it flow from his anus.
The shit that doesn't want to come out. Stubborn and deep, it resists, entrenched in his ass.

He tries to relax, to, who knows?... shit. His gaze returns to the newspaper.
It's crumpled, he's about to freak out. Impossible to read and enjoy. He starts to pray.
Legs stretched out and his ass lifted. Maybe then God will take pity,
Opening his ass to finally shit. Letting out the shit he so desperately wants to shit.

Revolted, and he knows why. Wrong vote, he believes, bad food they made him eat.
But, finally, she appears, radiant and beautiful, the Cinderella queen, fragrant and yellow.
Finally, he shits. He reads and strokes himself.
Through forehead and vague vertebrae, a chill that cannot be remedied.

His belly contracts, the vein in his neck swells, the poor boy shits thin and thick.
His belly contracts, the vein in his neck swells, the poor boy shits thinner and thicker.
His belly contracts, the vein in his neck swells, the poor boy shits thinner and thicker.

In the newspaper, he finds the biggest politician and aims his ablution gesture at him.
He wipes his ass and shits. He throws it in the toilet like a curse. All evil is paid for here.
He flushes, the politician spins and lets go, no one will have a bitter life anymore.
A last loud fart escapes, wakes the plateau, the backing comes from the toilet.

After the fart, he resumes his normal course, wishing no harm, nothing fatal.
Underwear and pants in place, going out to earn a living, to return to the beloved homeland.
Continue to love. Shit here or there. But, without ever stealing. What's wrong with that?!... Shit yes. Steal no.
Without stealing