Ode to an Adult Diaper
If you think your life’s unbearable and stress has made you hyper,
Just pause a moment and give thanks that you don’t need a diaper.
I’ve had PD a decade now, and though I’m not a griper,
At times my life gets knocked off track by some surprise sideswiper.
While sitting in my chair one day, as happy as a piper.
I felt the urge to break some wind. Instead, I had to wipe ‘er.
My underwear were ruined by this unwelcome skivvy striper,
At least it didn’t soak my jeans, or make them any riper.
Soon after that, while at my Mom’s, and trying not to gripe her,
I felt a bubble in my gut. Again, I had to wipe ‘er.
I got fresh pants and with a brush, that chair I had to swipe her.
My wife just frowned and shook her head. “You need to wear a diaper.”
I knew my wife was right (as I know better than to snipe her).
We hit the nearest drug store where they sell the “grown up” diaper.
I told my wife back at the room, these things are not my type. Her
Well thought out response was clear. “Just wear the frickin’ diaper.”
“You’ll never soil a chair again with leaks from your tailpipe.” Her
Logic helped a little. “They’re Depends, they’re not a diaper.”
For weeks I wore the crinkly pants, and though I’m not a hyper.
I’d have to say they’ve done their job. I’m not a cushion striper.
And then today, it struck again, as deadly as a sniper.
A bubble in my gut that made me have to run and wipe ‘er.
My PJ pants, they’re clean and prim as any candy striper.
No fudgy stains to cause me pains. Because I wore a diaper.
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