""




 


Poor Old Outhouse

 

Poor old out house,
Sittin’ on the farm,
One hole, two hole,
Ne’er caused any harm.

 

Bugs crawl on the wall,
Lizards cross the seat,
What an unusual place,
Friends suddenly we meet.

 

Nature called and we answered,
Before the flushable time,
Catalogs and corncobs,
‘Twas really the only choice of mine.

 

Cold winds blow across your bottom,
While you answer nature’s call,
Quick to get a job complete,
When you see a spider on the wall.

 

Nighttime in the outhouse,
You can count the stars above,
People living in the country,
Weren’t raised with kid gloves.

 

Gayle Davis
October 15, 2003©

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