At the subway station, crowded and loud,
I stood with my toddler, feeling quite proud.
But then came a question, clear and blunt,
“When will your **** talk again?” - what a stunt!
Embarrassment flooded, my face turned bright red,
As people around us chuckled and said
Nothing aloud, but their stares spoke for them,
While I tried to hush him, the chatty 'lil man.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, dismayed,
But he pressed on, “In the bathroom!” he played.
How I wished the ground would just swallow me whole,
As passengers giggled, beyond my control.
The subway ride - an epoch of shame,
Judging eyes upon me, I was to blame.
They probably thought I was gassy and crude,
I pondered which orphanage might take little dude.
As we stepped off the train, the doors shut tight,
And suddenly, it hit me - I saw the light!
At a gas stop, during a mommy squat,
My phone in my pocket had caused quite a plot.
Google Maps had spoken, loud and clear,
“Please turn around,” for us to hear.
But now it’s too late to explain this tale,
Forever they’ll think I couldn’t curtail.
My flatulence in public, or so they thought,
When really, it was just directions I sought.
A lesson learned in the most awkward way:
Keep your phone on silent, or be the **** of play!
