the poop

I'm feeling grateful (if penurous) that I had a bit of propane heat here during this past nor'easter. I'm also grateful for indoor plumbing. Back in the day (like a few years ago), I was grateful for a garden hose and an electric toilet, which made life possible at Claudia's Surf City. The electric (burn up the shit) toilet, of a type used often on boats, was called Incinolet. Dangerman wrote some great limericks about it, and my sister penned the following:

To Incinolet

We sit behind this peaceful door
And ponder times that passed before
The loves we'll tend forever more
And some we now regret—

When wrest from our exotic lives
Somehow our solitude survives
Protected, safe, this room connives
A human/steel duet—

As if in eye of whirling winds
We find renewal now begins
And as our swollen bladder thins
Our purpose is reset—

So leave behind the battles fought;
The things that make you most distraught
Are ashes, now, of times forgot
Deep in Incinolet.

Deep shit, eh?