Brown trout

(for all my English teachers who accused me of not paying attention in class)

It took me six decades to learn

what, when and how to read.

In grade school, I’d read Field & Stream

while releasing brown trout.

High school came and I’d take a novel

to the john, read until my legs fell asleep

and Tom Joad hit that cop

in the head with a shovel.

In my sixties, I discovered

for every bowel movement there’s a poem.

A sonnet or two for a dainty turd

upon an upholstered porcelain throne.

Anne Sexton for when

you need to shit and can’t.

I use T.S. Elliot for wasted nights of

burning diarrhea and a tight asshole is needed.

Robert Frost for the road less traveled

and dear Emily for when you want left alone.

Homer’s and Whitman’s epic poems

will still put your legs asleep.

Read Basho, if you’re traveling and afraid

to let bare skin touch a toilet seat

But when it comes to normal poops,

Wallace Stevens and Mary Oliver will do just fine.

10-31-26

**I really did not want to post this piece! — wife.