The Outside Toilet

Autumn’s last children lay in the corner
Bereft of branch and blown off life
To lie here dry and dead
In this shed behind the midden by the byre

No path no light but hope for a shite
The hurricane lamp drunkingly dancing the night
Stumbling past slumbering henhouses all in a row
Its straw snug citizens pecking warm-wormed dreams

The wind carved bush, finger to the sea
“ That way young man “
The cold clutch of the mil-dewed, white-washed walls
Clamouring, clamouring, “Come in Come in”

Stout latch wind-shut,
cold throne sat,
sharp paper safe
Safe amid the wild wild world

© 2009 Mervyn Cooke