Here’s a gem of a poem I found going through some old backups:
The water swirls, the paper furls.
Faeces drown in turgid waters.
And yet, their essence lingers.
Dragged kicking and screaming
To the locker of Jones,
the stool exacts its revenge-
Skidmarks mar the bowl,
Sights of poo’s last plight
To remain above, in the world of light.
I have the power to erase it.
Taking in hand the cleansing rod,
I scour the bowl and make it clean.
Bacteria’s last bastion burned,
Footholds falter, welcome spurned.
The pure porcelain smiles,
Like the Cheshire Cat,
Laughing at waste gone down the rabbit hole.
I wrote that in response to the toilets at my old work always being disgustingly shit stained, and hung it on the back of the stall doors so that people would read it mid act. I’m not sure if it led to any cleaner bowls but I’m sure it got a few smiles.