A Fart In A Dojo

I have always wanted to write a poem

about a fart in a dojo,

but never embarked till now.

What is it keeps us from realizing

our longings and deepest ambitions?

you wonder; or maybe you’d rather 

get straight to the fart.

In case it’s the latter: I’ve heard a few,

usually when doing ground work—

two players struggling with all their might,

and one goes, rip, like a torn sheet;

then sometimes again: rip, rip.

Later, perhaps, for that other subject.