Th’Outside Lav | Poetry

Graham Ashworth

Do you ever look back through rose-tinted glasses and shake your head at the way time passes.
Nostalgia’s a thing we’re all happy to have, but I’m glad one thing’s gone – the outside lav.
It’s a place I never cared for all that much – it was home to cold draughts, spiders and such.
Newspapers hung there neither burned nor binned, hoping to find new life or second wind.
The light didn’t work – there was a crack in the seat, the Bogeyman felt close – I hoped not to meet.
So all this going on and with what I was knowin’ – If I could help it at all, to the lav I weren’t goin’.

A cold winter’s night for this lad of seven – staying indoors was my idea of heaven.
Ice gathered on my window, outside and in – I pulled the bed covers right up to my chin.
But I’d forgotten what could happen to someone like me – I cried out in horror – I needed a pee.
I crossed my legs and considered the worst – my tummy was full and was fit to burst.
Dandelion and Burdock, cola, lemonade – guzzled in quantity, were the choices I’d made.
The Bogeyman, the cold, the spiders and all – were beckoning me out, to make nature’s call.
The whole night long I couldn’t endure – I had to make a decision – that was for sure.
Would I venture out I often would wonder – or reach under the bed for my trusty goes-under!