Urinal Poem by Chris Higginson

I stand quite close but not too far
From pelvic porcelain mounted jar
It is but one of A long row
Where men are often wont to go
The others standing there with me
Are in a line to have a pee
All staring at the push top tap
We listen to the urine lap
Some with dribbles some with force
Wonder who’s the noisy source
Of gushing pressure jetting fast
Goes on and on, it cannot last
And then he waggles, swagger hip
As if a monster in his grip
Then I chance a sideways glance
I see that it is not a lance
But just a trace of days gone by
He buttons up his denim’s fly
So now I’ll never feel so bad
‘Cause though I am no more a lad
I do not suffer pressure stops
From prostrate causing slowing drops
Like this fellow on my left
Whose force of life seems now bereft
They say that size is everything
To culminate in pleasuring
But maybe sometimes having double
Isn’t worth ensuing trouble
Be satisfied with what you’ve got
To cross the tease, and I’s with Dot