Don’t Read This If You Think I’m Nice

28 Nov

Today, I’m going to talk to you about poo.  See full size image  Not that sort of poo, I’m afraid.  I am a working class girl with the occasional delicate sensibility: I can’t use the f-word that ends in ‘art’ and I won’t let my children use it (in front of me).  I really hate the word.  It is a little ridiculous of me, as my sister-in-law once pointed out: I have no problem doing it in a room full of revolted family members.  My Dad used to ask, ‘Where’s that motorbike?’ whenever I let rip as a child (which was often).  Strangely, I don’t belch.  No, for me it’s just bottom burps. 

I have wandered from the point a little.  I’ve had the trots the last couple of days, hence the brevity of my posts; but I’m all better now, and happy to have gotten a short poem from the experience:

 

Excremental Blues 

 

There is nowhere

so lonely for a

suffering backside

as a November

bathroom at midnight.

 

It is going into my Number 2 Cycle of poems; I have already posted one, but here’s another:  

 

Onomatopooa 

 

Drip

drip

plop

drip

drip

plop

(it’s amazing what passes for art these days)

 

Sadly, I have quite a few more.  It seems you can take the girl out of the toilet but you can’t take the toilet out of the girl.

Dear Reader, I hope I haven’t left you feeling soiled.

 

 

5 Responses to “Don’t Read This If You Think I’m Nice”

  1. Cash Poetry November 28, 2009 at 16:04 #

    I dont know what to say except that I have enjoyed reading. Cash Poetry

    Like

    • tillybud November 29, 2009 at 15:47 #

      Thanks for stopping by. I like your blog.

      Like

  2. Little Cozzy November 28, 2009 at 20:27 #

    Ahem! You better add to this post that I was the one who invented drip, drop, plop! You only made the title!

    Like

    • tillybud November 29, 2009 at 15:48 #

      You have a whole post to yourself, my sweet, by way of apology.

      Like

  3. Musings November 30, 2009 at 08:52 #

    Too, too funny Tilly!

    Like

I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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