Empty Your Pockets

by Neal Bosshardt

(On the first morning of a scout summer camp, I had a near miss experience in a portable toilet
when my wallet fell out of my back pocket and landed on the floor behind my foot.  This poem resulted from that.)


When summer camp is over

and winter is coming on,

we’ll think back with such fond memories

of that chemical “Dear John”.


That sweet smelling chemical toilet

that on Monday smells so nice.

It’s a pleasure to go in it,

It sort of smells like spice.


On Tuesday it’s still not too bad

though scouts have used it more.

Just be careful where you sit, and

“Hey, who did that on the floor?”


On Wednesday there’s an odor

that reaches a country mile,

and before you sit, you take a stick

and level off the “pile”.


By Thursday it’s quite obvious

It’s plain for all to see

the experience would be more pleasant

if you just went behind a tree.


By Friday I’d decided not to go again.

I’d grit my teeth

and hold real tight

and keep it all within.


But the stew we had for supper

decided to change my plan

I knew I’d have to go real quick

so I headed for the ‘can’.


I took a breath and stepped inside

to a fate that’s worse than death.

I pushed real hard and hoped to finish

before I had to take a breath.


Well, when I finally finished

and pulled up my pants at last,

I heard from back behind me

a soft and gentle splash.


I turned and looked; I just got sick,

I thought my heart would stop

for there was my brand new wallet

slowly sinking through the slop.


I knew I’d have to act real quick,

there was no time to wait

or my wallet would be history,

sealed in it’s ‘stinky fate’.


I grabbed my watch, and then my hat

and threw them in with my high school ring,

cause there was no way I was reaching in there

for just ‘one’ single thing.