The Outhouse Poem
Posted: 09 Feb 2015, 19:44
THE OUTHOUSE POEM
The Service Station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and whittle stick
Piled shavings on the ground.
No modern facilities had they there,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.
"Where is the ladies lavatory, sir?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.
With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, as though she feared,
A spider might be in it.
With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for her car
Just like the girls before.
She missed the foot bridge - jumped the stream
Let out a high pitch shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on the acacia sprout.
She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.
Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.
A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.
He waited till the girls got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
Dahlin', use the other hole,
We're painting under here!"
The Service Station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and whittle stick
Piled shavings on the ground.
No modern facilities had they there,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.
"Where is the ladies lavatory, sir?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.
With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, as though she feared,
A spider might be in it.
With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for her car
Just like the girls before.
She missed the foot bridge - jumped the stream
Let out a high pitch shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on the acacia sprout.
She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.
Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.
A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.
He waited till the girls got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
Dahlin', use the other hole,
We're painting under here!"
