The outhouse poem.

mick · 11-04-2011, 09:13 AM

THE OUTHOUSE POEM *
(*note: If you don't know what an Out House is - ask someone a little older)

The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.

No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.

"Where is the ladies restroom, sir?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.

With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.

With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.

She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.

She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.

Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.

A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.

He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.

And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,

"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here!"

Pigman1 · 11-04-2011, 01:43 PM

I love it!!! I used to look forward to going to "The Country" so I could use the outhouse. That and keeping the butter, eggs, mayo , lunch meat and milk in the well bucket were things to look forward to. When we would go up in the winter for fun in the snow, the big cast iron cook stove in the kitchen used to keep it toasty warm, and always provided a good place to dry gloves, scarves and boots. Brings back a lot of memories.

John