The Shack Outback

I slowly creep from between warm sheets

And pull my boots upon small feet,

I think again of my warm bed,

Put on my coat, place hat on head.

I step into the frosty night,

My heart is thumping hard with fright.

The moonbeams light the snow aglow

And to the outhouse I do go.

Halfway across the yard I see

A snowdrift deeper than my knees.

I shudder as I climb that bank

And almost to my waist I sink.

The snow sifts down into my boots.

From nearby tree an owl hoots.

I turn the wooden latch – and then,

I enter that dark musky den.

I think of spiders lurking there

And run my fingers through my hair.

Hike up my coat, push down my pants

And then I do a little dance.

This outhouse is the finest kind

And everyone should keep in mind

Not every outhouse has two holes.

A fellow can chose where to go.

I sit upon the smallest one

Cut 'specially for little buns.

The frosty air, the drafty hole

Soon help me to complete my goal.

Those were the thrills of days gone by.

I reminisce and wonder why

They banned that little shack outback,

For many feet have walked that track.

 Now when I rise from my warm bed

And head toward the John instead,

I think back to days of long ago

When to the outhouse I did go.

One of my fondest memories

Is stepping out between the trees

And walking down that well-packed track,

To use that little shack outback.

Copyright © 2000 by Mary M. Alward

All Rights Reserved