THE HOUSE BEHIND THE HOUSE


  One of my bygone recollections,
  As I recall the days of yore
  Is the little house, behind the house,
  With the crescent over the door.

  
  'Twas a place to sit and ponder
  With your head bowed down low;
  Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
  If you didn't have to go.

  
  Ours was a three-holer,
  With a size for every one.
  You left there feeling better,
  After your usual job was done.

  
  You had to make these frequent trips
  Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog-
  To the little house where you usually
  Found the Sears-Roebuck catalog.

  
  Oft times in dead of winter,
  The seat was covered with snow.
  'Twas then with much reluctance,
  To the little house you'd go.

  
  With a swish you'd clear the seat,
  Bend low, with dreadful fear
  You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth
  As you settled on your rear.

  
  I recall the day Granddad,
  Who stayed with us one summer,
  Made a trip to the shanty
  Which proved to be a hummer.

  
  'Twas the same day my Dad
  Finished painting the kitchen green.
  He'd just cleaned up the mess he'd made
  With rags and gasoline.

  
  He tossed the rags in the shanty hole
  And went on his usual way
  Not knowing that by doing so
  He would eventually rue the day.

  
  Now Granddad had an urgent call,
  I never will forget!
  This trip he made to the little house
  Lingers in my memory yet.

  
  He sat down on the shanty seat,
  With both feet on the floor.
  Then filled his pipe with tobacco
  And struck a match on the outhouse door.

  
  After the Tobacco began to glow,
  He slowly raised his rear
  And tossed the flaming match in the open hole below,
  With not a sign of fear.

  
  The blast that followed, I am sure
  Was heard for miles around;
  And there was poor ol' Granddad
  Just sitting on the ground.

  
  The smoldering pipe, still in his mouth,
  His suspenders he held tight;
  The celebrated three-holer
  Was blown clear out of sight.

  
  When we asked him what had happened,
  His answer I'll never forget.
  He thought it must be something
  That he had recently et!

  
  Next day we had a new one
  Which my Dad built with ease.
  With a sign on the entrance door
  Which read: No Smoking, Please!

  
  Now that's the end of the story,
  With memories of long ago,
  Of the little house, behind the house
  Where we went cause we had to go!

2002

2001