Urgent Gratitude

Be warned: this is a toilet poem.
And a men’s public toilet at that.
Meaning, you should turn back now
Before you cross the next line,
For that’s when it will stink worse
Than that unflushed commode
With betel-juiced red velvet cakes
And open-mouthed tobacco sachets.
I didn’t have to go there, you say?
Holding it in wasn’t an option either.
I don’t like watering highway plants.
When I can find such a place, I generally
Prefer pointing pressurised parabolas
Playfully past pink perforated plastic
Mats in colgate-white urinal bowls
That wet themselves after the hosing
And get wiped clean by invisible men
In indigo uniforms and yellow masks.
Better, if I can juggle naphthalene balls.
Today was just not one of those days.
Today I could go anywhere. Desperate!
Why don’t I have this determined urgency
For other life-threatening situations?
Like relationships about to burst out.
I wasn’t angry at the toilet for the shit
I had to put up with for a moment’s peace.
I got to the point, direct and grateful.
Cursing would have only prolonged agony.
Like it always does with the people
Who aren’t shitty on their own generally
But are having a bad day, stuck with
Someone else’s unfinished business.
They don’t need me piling on them more.
The water tap inside just pffted at me.
But a faucet outside was forthcoming.
I filled a pail, upturned it on the bowl
And repeated thrice for good measure.
It still stank. I still retched. Still am.
But at least it took a load off the bowl.
You’re welcome, next guy!

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