Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Ode to The Outhouse

One of my fondest memories
 As I recall the days of yore
 Was the little house, behind the house,
 With the crescent o'erthe door.

 'Twas a place to sit and ponder
 With your head all bowed down low;
 Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
 If you didn't have to go.

 Ours was a multi-holer, three,
 With a size for every one.
 You left there feeling better,
 After your job was done.

 You had to make those frequent trips
 In snow, rain, sleet, or fog--
 To that little house where you usually
 Found the Sears catalog.

 Oft times in dead of winter,
 The seat was spread with snow.
 Twas then with much reluctance,
 To that little house you'd go.

 With a swish you'd clear that wooden seat,
 Bend low, with dreadful fear
 You'd shut your eyes and grit your teeth
 As you settled on your rear.

 I recall the day Ol' Granddad,
 Who stayed with us one summer,
 Made a trip out to that little house
 Which proved to be a bummer.

 'Twas the same day that my Dad had
 Finished painting the kitchen green.
 He'd just cleaned up the mess he'd made
 With rags and gasoline.

 He tossed the rags down in the hole
 Went on his usual way
 Not knowing that by doing so
 He'd eventually rue the day.

 Now Granddad had an urgent call,
 I never will forget!
 This trip he made to the little house
 Stays in my memory yet.

 He sat down on the wooden seat,
 With both feet on the floor.
 He filled his pipe and tapped it down
 And struck a match on the outhouse door.

 He lit the pipe and sure enough,
 It soon began to glow.
 He slowly raised his rear a bit
 And tossed the flaming match below.

 The Blast that followed, I am told
 Was heard for miles around;
 And there was poor ol' Granddad
 Sprawled out there on the ground.

 The smoldering pipe still in his mouth,
 His eyes were shut real tight;
 The celebrated three-holer
 Was blown clear out of sight.

 We asked him what had happened,
 What he said I'll ne'er forget.
 He said he thought it must have been
 The pinto beans he et!

 Next day we had a new one
 Dad put it up with ease.
 But this one had a door sign
 That read: No Smoking, Please.

Now that's the story's end my friend,
Of memories long ago,
When we went to the house behind the house,
Because we had to go.

For those who never had to trot out in the Cold.....
Just Give Thanks.