The Cold Ring

As I sit here
on the lavatory seat
shivering through my winter vest
that I wish I was wearing
in the early hours of the morning,
weary eyed in the lamp light,
wishing that i hadn’t left the window open
or that maybe the seat was made of
something less conductive of cold,
(The cold ring has awoken me)
I remark on all the years of diligence
and effort that went into forming the seat
upon which i sit.
The master piece of masking
the smell
and whisking it all away.
The years of thought and wonder
that went into my toilet
so that I could get intestinal cancer
from pooing sitting down.


6 thoughts on “The Cold Ring

  1. I don’t know what it is about this one… it just touches me. It’s horrible and harsh in its cold frankness, but still very profound. One I will definitely take with me. Great work as usual.

  2. The best way to avoid intestinal cancer is to poop while doing cartwheels.

    Zfreek – way to go, a poem whose setting is the toilet… that is gutsy. You pulled it off. (the poem that is).

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