Friday, January 12, 2007

Ice Age; Part Two

Snow blows in the outhouse,
it nips my frozen toes
with every gust a drift blows in,
my bowel movement slows.

We never thought we'd need a door
For want of privacy
for in the woods we've solitude
to take a dump or pee.

And now I am reminded
with every drift and gust
how pleasant it must surely be
to sit inside and flush.

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