Attendant Needs

The man who cleans the ladies’ toilet
Tries to stay invisible
Knowing he’s unwelcome, and
His job is somehow risible

An overflowing bin too ripe
With gravid, bloody stink
The stains that form behind the pipe
The vomit in the sink

The woman who mops out the gents’
Is handy with her fists
As banging on the cubicles
Helps lovers to resist

Temptations of a toilet dweller
Keen to wet their beak
With sins of flesh on offer
Even seasoned will’s too weak

Where users of facilities
One tries hard to forget
Don’t pass too close, as ill at ease
Our bladders we regret

And silent in our tinklings
Groans and grunts are magnified
Graffiti grows in sprinklings
Where we defecate inside

Sharing of Resources

The partition or division
Of a simple china bowl
May require some precision
And decisions as you go

For the politics of office
Mean it simply doesn’t do
To burst in upon a colleague
When they’re going to the loo

Please remember there’s a door lock
To preserve our modesty
It may help avoid a sudden shock
When desperate to pee

In the privacy of porcelain
By all means take your time
Just as long as you’re secured within
That’s absolutely fine

Yet if you by chance omit
To turn the knob and hide your haste
Then I’m sorry for your snit
But don’t deserve that bitchy face

The January Blues

I am finding my diet depressing
(A first world complaint, you’ll agree)
For in spite of the shakes, and the carbs, and the breaks
I am moody, sore, tired and hungry

Yet they tell me it’s worth it to diet
It shows character, willpower, poise
And with less spent on meat, you invest what you’d eat
In a dress to attract all the boys

So I guess I should stick with the program
For another few days at the least
If I make it that far, on an energy bar
You could use to scrub pots of their grease

I’m not sure I buy in to the concept
That the thin are more healthy and glam
And a girl in her prime must waste quite so much time
On starvation to bag her a man

No, I’m doing this thing to feel healthy
So the stairs are not quite such a chore
If eschewing all cheese, last year’s jeans pass my knees
It’s a bonus worth nothing at all

The Joker

Seamus said he dug with his
But I am less of farming stock
Frustrated by the daily mis’
My pen prefers the short, sharp, shock
So taking from old movies, scenes
That better fit my present snit
I’ll borrow Action from my teens
While nib’s still sharp – I’ll stab with it.