Ivan Donn Carswell Poems

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You lift the lid in awe, a seat and lid
upon an inside stall where you can go,
quite unlike the outside loo at home,
but oh the smell, the hellish smell
so rank and raw – you see some objects
in there clearly, disbelieving things you
really shouldn’t see; it is a step too far,
a wide-eyed confrontation, a graphic
realisation this is not the same,
clearly not what you naively thought
it ought to be. So now you’re caught
a step beyond your safety zone,
trapped alone and scared, poised to run
away despaired because no-one
will come unbid and make it safe,
or give you confidence that yes, this is
the proper place and show you
how. And now you are prepared to cry,
the tears are welling in your eyes
but you can hear them crying sissy boy,
sissy boy, you’re nothing but a sissy boy.
You will not cry, you will not run,
you’ll walk away and hurry home,
it’s not that far. And when they notice
you have gone and worry where, or later
ask you why you disappeared from sight,
you’ll say, I couldn’t go in there,
that dunny can and awful smell just wasn’t right.
© I.D. Carswell

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