Thursday, May 2, 2013

The House Behind The House


One of my fondest memories 
As I recall the days of yore, 
Was the little house, behind the house, 
With the crescent o'er the door.    


  'Twas a place to sit and ponder 
With your head all bowed down low; 
Knowing that you wouldn't be there, 
If you didn't have to go.   

  
Ours was a multi-holer, three,
With a size for every one. 
You left there feeling better, 
After your job was done.    

 
You had to make those frequent trips 
In snow, rain, sleet, or fog-- 
To that little house where you usually 
Found the Sears Roebuck catalog. 

  
Oft times in dead of winter, 
The seat was spread with snow… 
'Twas then with much reluctance, 
To that little house you'd go.   

  
With a swish you'd clear that wooden seat, 
Bend low, with dreadful fear, 
You'd shut your eyes and grit your teeth 
As you settled on your rear.

 
I recall the day Ol' Granddad, 
Who stayed with us one summer, 
Made a trip out to that little house  
Which proved to be a bummer.    

  
'Twas the same day that my Dad had
Finished painting the kitchen green. 
He'd just cleaned up the mess he'd made 
With rags and gasoline.   

  
He tossed the rags down in the hole 
Went on his usual way, 
Not knowing that by doing so 
He'd eventually rue the day.


Now Granddad had an urgent call, 
I never will forget! 
This trip he made to the little house 
Stays  in my memory yet.    

  
He sat down on the wooden seat, 
With both feet on the floor. 
He filled his pipe and tapped it down 
And struck a match on the outhouse door.

   
He lit the pipe and sure enough,
It soon began to glow.
He slowly raised his rear a bit, 
And tossed the flaming match below.



The Blast that followed, I am told 
Was heard for miles around; 
And there was poor ol' Granddad 
Sprawled out there on the ground.   

  
The smoldering pipe still in his mouth, 
His eyes were shut real tight; 
The celebrated three-holer 
Was blown clear out of sight.   
  

We asked him what had happened, 
What he said I'll  ne'er forget. 
He said he thought it must have been 
The pinto beans he et!


Next day we had a new one 
Dad put it up with ease. 
But this one had a door sign  
That read:  No Smoking, Please


Now that's the story's end, 
my friend,
Of  memories long ago, 
When we went to the house
Behind the house,
Because we had to go.


For those who never had to trot out in the Cold,
Just Give Thanks to God above!

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