(“Beware,” I whispered)

"Beware," I whispered,
as she entered the wash room
and I darted out.

(You had the chili)

"You had the chili
today?" I asked, as the next
stall got noisier.

Arrears

Dear Co-worker:

Your poop stain in your underwear
is your problem.
Your poop stain on the office toilet seat
is my problem.

Regards (despite your lack thereof),
Amy

(talking to herself)

talking to herself
two stalls down -- no Bluetooth
headset in sight

Vowels and Bowels

I hate it when

you know you're

going to have to

poop soon, but not yet,

and you're on your way

to work

(or a court date

or a TV interview).

You know it's coming

soon, but you don't know

how soon.

You could be

in the middle of a

sentence in meeting

when, suddenly,

your stomach begins

to churn and

your bowels begin

to burn.

You can't always

escape to a restroom

the moment you need one.

You try to smile and

continue your interview

(or conference call

or cross examination)

with some modicum

of decorum, but

all you can think of is

"POOP!"

All you want to do

is find a nice,

secluded stall

and let it fly.

Instead, you're stuck

in a light brown room

expected to string turds

(I mean words)

together intelligently

with a pile

(I mean smile).

Untimely Departure (Cat Got Your Dung)

Sometimes
Mother Nature calls
at the most
inopportune times.
I get up early
so that I can
get to work early.
But Mother Nature
interrupts my plan
with an exit strategy
of her own.
Once I honor her urging
and take a seat,
just a few moments
into our session,
she decides to be
difficult and stubborn.
My extra minutes

waste away

and my momentum slows
to a screeching
halt.

I will not be

early today
thanks to the delay
down under.
I am stalled
and stuck
and stationed
on the stool
for as long as it takes
for Mother Nature
to drop her kids off
at the pool.
And eventually,
once I finally
arrive at work,
I search for a
truthful, yet tactful
explanation for my
late state of affairs.
I could say,
"Traffic was stuck;
nothing was moving."
But, I settle on
"an urgent call
from my mother"
and leave it at that.

Just One of Those Things

It's strange --
funny, really --

that one

woman can

walk into

the restroom,

lock her

stall door,

create a

mammoth sound

from one

tiny hole,

and walk

out of

the bathroom
in silence.

Holy Sit

When I take my seat
in the bathroom,

I am participating

in one of the most basic,

yet marvelous

human functionalities.

We have been created

with a remarkable

self-cleaning service.

(Who but a master

designer would have

conceived of this?)

So, when I sit

on the john and

take a dump,

something holy

is happening.

I am at once

connected to the

brother and sister hoods

of the earth

and to God.

Fresh and in the Can

Sometimes I just know
a poem's about to drop.
It's a feeling not unlike
the feeling I get
when my bowls are about
to move -- a bottoming out
type of sensation
that tells me
I better find
a piece of paper
(or a toilet) fast
because something's
about to plop out.
Sometimes I get that
nervous panicky feeling
when it's "time"
and I can't seem
to find any paper
(or a toilet).
My breathing gets shallow,
my armpits begin to sweat
and my mouth gets dry.

Ever notice that a
delayed delivery
results in nothing but
a constipated effort later?
The more it's postponed,
the more plugged up it gets.
It's better to let nature
take its course
while the urge is fresh.
Things move a lot

more freely that way.

Fortunately, more
times than not,
I find what I need
just in time
to avoid a blockage.

(As she entered the)

As she entered the

ladies' restroom, I whispered,

"I didn't do it."

Tough Stuff

I know life is hard
and that things can be
particularly rough
in the bathroom.
But do you really need
to vocally testify
to your difficulty
in the office restroom?
There is such a thing
as quiet desperation.
I wish for you a
silent elimination,
and for myself,
emancipation
from your proclamation.

(hearing the big blast,)

hearing the big blast,
grateful I exited the
ladies room intact

(I held my breath.)

I held my breath.
Lunch was unkind to the
previous pooper.

(woman in the stall)

woman in the stall

next to me smacking her gum

like a three year old

(wicked rump rupture)

wicked rump rupture
shocking as acupuncture
ladies’ room juncture

(sitting on the pot)

sitting on the pot
in a strange town -- suddenly
all the lights go out

Work Out Your “Bowelvation” With Rear End Trembling

There are few things
more satisfying
than a good poop.
Not the poop itself,
of course, but
the act of
eliminating
the dogged doodie.
After a good dump,
all seems right
with the world
(or at least
with your bowels).
You can breathe
deep again
and leave the can
with your shoulders back,
ready to take on
the next meeting,
class or diaper,
knowing that,
in the end,
things have a way of
working out.

(standing at the sink in the ladies’ room)

standing at the sink in the ladies’ room --
through the wall to the men’s room,
hearing things I don’t want to hear

Common Round (Rumpster Dumpsters "R" Us)

Taking a dump is a noisy occupation.
One cannot poop with dignity or decorum.
Your Ph.D., LL.D., M.A. or B.A.
amounts to a pile of B.S. when it comes to BMs.
On the throne, we are all the same --
all princes, all paupers, all poopers.
Sure, our performances may differ --
some may grunt, moan, sigh or groan --
but the delivery is the same.
And it's not pretty.
There's nothing cute
about dropping a load.
There's nothing suave
about pinching a loaf.
There's nothing dapper about the crapper.
But we've got to doo what we've got to doo.
On the john or on the loo, we are all average Joes
and Jane Does and that's just the way it goes.

(concert interrupt-)

concert interrupt-
ed by a sewage backup,
attendees aflush

The Courtesy Flush

It's a simple solution
to a terrible problem.
Once the baby ruth
has been delivered,
send that puppy home.
Why some folks
refuse to flush their
refuse and spare
the rest of us
their putrid fumes,
I have no clue.
I submit that public
restrooms must be
outfitted with gas
masks to counteract
the air quality offenses.
To such offenders, I
have only one plea:
Don't let your poo
stew under you.

Dangerous Delivery

sitting on the john
startled by the noises
in the stall next to me
praying that I don't get
splattered by the
bazooka pooper next door

(lost my appetite)

lost my appetite
waiting for the elevator
outside the restroom

(bathroom concerto)

bathroom concerto
simultaneous poopers
workplace harmony