Once upon a midnight bore, while I pondered, screwed and gassy,
Over many a weird and queer volume of forgotten farts—
While I crapped, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some screwball gently rapping, rapping at my toilet.
“’Tis some asshole,” I muttered, “tapping at my toilet—
Only this and never flush.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak October;
And each separate cold and distant asshole wrought its crap upon the toilet.
Eagerly I wished to crap;—vainly I had farted while reading
my books of Cacalini Yoga and Sorrow for the Lost Toilet—
For the rare and radiant Toilet whom the angels name Dick Scott—
Yet nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each pink and purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic farts and shit never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some asshole entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late asshole entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my desire to crap grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly I must fart and crap;
But the fact is I was farting, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my toilet door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you asshole”—here I opened wide the door;—
Shit was there and nothing more.
Deep into that shitty darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, farting farts no mortal ever dared to fart before;
But the crap was unbroken, and the crapman gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Dicky Scott?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Dicky Scott”—
Shit In The Toilet and nothing more.
Back into the Toilet Room turning, all my Ass within me burning to fart,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window latrine;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my ass be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the asshole and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a crap and crap,
In there stepped a stately Toilet of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made it; not a minute stopped or stayed it;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Huevo Morales just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony crap beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crap be loose and stinky, thou,” I said, “art sure no toilet,
Ghastly grim and ancient Toilet wandering from the Sewage shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Sewage shore!”
Quoth the Toilet “Never Flush.”