Monday, May 21, 2007

Dead Poet's Society

I was on the toilet yesterday, as I often am (damn protein shakes), and since I was devoid of reading material, I was forced to scan the shiny interior of my aluminum confinement to pass the time. I found nothing out of the ordinary really. A chrome coat hanger on the back of the squeaky door, a barf bar (as I like to call them), to my left, a toilet paper dispenser, but when my eyes reached the right panel, I immediately knew that I was in for a treat.

On this day, I did not find the more common, and unthoughtful “Mike was here” cliché carved into the metal, or a phone number written with a sharpie in case I want a good time. There was no innocuous juvenile scribbling, or even some good old fashion graffiti. No, no, no. I knew that I wouldn’t be let down by public bathroom’s finest literary authors. The artwork upon which my gaze did fall, was nothing less than a quaint restroom poem. Oh how exciting, I thought, a fellow poet. (If enough of you show interest, I will gladly post some.) This particular poem read as follows:


Here I sit with a completely broken heart,
For 2 days I tried to shit, but alas, could only fart.
Now, I hang my head in defeat and shame,
While my poor ass lights the bathroom aflame.
So, upon this porcelain pot I stoop,
In the hopes that one day I’ll finally poop.

Wun Hung Low



An enthusiastic passerby retorted:

One hung low in your Momma’s mouth bitch!

Ah yes........... that’s more like it.


5 comments:

Angela Z said...

Yes, snickers as well. So nice of you to share! Take Care! Angie

la cubana gringa said...

Since we're sharing potty poetry...here's one of the most notable rhymes I've come across in my perusal of public stall scrawlings, this one from high school:

If you love your man
then show some class
And don't write his name
where you wipe your ass

Mr. Poopie said...

angie z - anytime. I'm sure it won't be the last.

cubana - if men only shared the same thoughtfulness....

Some Catchy Chic said...

Haha, wow. Talk about a shit-inspired poem. They must have really been sitting there for a while to have thought of such a deep, heart-warming poem. That amuses me much more than phone numbers and such.

Special K said...

that's an awesome poem and funny as hell, too. always remember to never call the numbers on the stall doors, no matter how good of a time you think it could be. damn circus folk