I stand quite close but not too far <br />From pelvic porcelain mounted jar <br />It is but one of A long row <br />Where men are often wont to go <br />The others standing there with me <br />Are in a line to have a pee <br />All staring at the push top tap <br />We listen to the urine lap <br />Some with dribbles some with force <br />Wonder who’s the noisy source <br />Of gushing pressure jetting fast <br />Goes on and on, it cannot last <br />And then he waggles, swagger hip <br />As if a monster in his grip <br />Then I chance a sideways glance <br />I see that it is not a lance <br />But just a trace of days gone by <br />He buttons up his denim’s fly <br />So now I’ll never feel so bad <br />‘Cause though I am no more a lad <br />I do not suffer pressure stops <br />From prostrate causing slowing drops <br />Like this fellow on my left <br />Whose force of life seems now bereft <br />They say that size is everything <br />To culminate in pleasuring <br />But maybe sometimes having double <br />Isn’t worth ensuing trouble <br />Be satisfied with what you’ve got <br />To cross the tease, and I’s with Dot<br /><br />Christopher Higginson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/urinal/
