The Gas Station Outhouse – A Poem

Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this as much as I do.

The Gas Station Outhouse

The Gas Station Outhouse
The Gas Station Outhouse

The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.

No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.

“Where is the ladies restroom, sir?”
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.

The Gas Station Outhouse
The Gas Station Outhouse

With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.

With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.

She missed the foot log – jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.

She tripped and fell – got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.

Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.

A speaking system he’d devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.

The Gas Station Outhouse
The Gas Station Outhouse

He’d wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.

And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
“Will you please use the other hole,
We’re painting under here!”

Top

Do you have a story using an outhouse or have a general comment?
“Dump” your answers to the official Outhouse Curator by using the form below…

    What is 2 x 2 ?

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

    This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.