The Sunday Incident Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I must report an incident that has disturbed
and troubled me, in fact I needed to partake
of two small tablets of diazepam just to pull through.
It was on Sunday, at the crack of one new dawn.

As is the custom in our family, since Bismarck's day,
the captain of the ship is privileged to be the first
to plop his gluteals onto the seat of seashell novelty,
while looking through the pages of the weekend rag
to gain true incidental courage, meaning to distract
and thus allow a gentle peristalsis to take hold
all with the goal of slow and thorough evacuation.

This was a Sunday like the rest of them, a trifle sad
due to the fact that ugly Monday would not be too far.
However, it had been arranged (perhaps ordained)
by higher beings in advance, reasons quite unknown
the lever, made of shiny leightweight alloy and attached
to a convenient spot right near the cistern's upper edge,
this trusted lever marked Caroma, it had failed to work!

No torrents of a navy blue deluge would take away
the proceeds of largely digested meals of recent days.
They sat, some floating, some still in explorer mode
refusing to go on to meet their home and final destiny.

I'd always looked at them, the moment of departure
when suddenly an unexpected but by now familiar force
would turn this placid little lake into a circulating undertow,
relentlessly like phagocytes gone mad, engulfing all
accompanied by howls of porcelain winds and sonic baritone.

I fiddled as you all would have, a schedule did await
and youngish voices were intent to form a noisy queue,
though we observe a proper pecking order on all days.
The fiddling had imparted a small twist and then, a finger's tap
brought instant action and functional relief, here comes the flush,
I mumbled it, more to myself than to the travelling mass.

There was a burst inside my cranial vault, of purplish dopamine
which triggered quickly the appropriate response, it was of joy.
But the excitement saw my eyes stray from the blue
thus missing the fanfare of my usual view-the-loo, do you?

At last I left the melancholy place to drown my sorrow
under that silly water-saving ninety dollar showerhead.
I realized, in a most painful moment of a forced-upon futility
that they were gone for good and I had missed the chance
the only one to ever seal the bond and utter my good-byes.