Thanks to my Dad for this one (yes really), who sent me a picture of these lovely urinals (at Dobbies Garden Centre, Shepton Mallet – urinal tourists take note) and asked me to write a poem about them.
Well, I couldn’t find a poem within me about flowery urinals – but urinals in general – oh yes. To me, and I think to most women, the whole concept of urinals is just absolutely bizarre.
If it wasn’t bad enough for men that they have to unleash their todgers in front of complete strangers… surely it must be even worse having to do it next to colleagues?! Well. My female brain can’t even begin to imagine.
But maybe there’s an upside…
The Workplace Wee
If someone at work saw my Mary,
I’d resign just as quick as can be,
But men have to face this fear squarely,
When they go for a quick workplace wee.
They stand petrified in the toilet,
All three eyes staring blankly ahead,
One flicker, one movement could spoil it,
They might get the eyeful they dread.
But there’s power there, at the urinal –
Take young Billy, the purchasing clerk,
There he stood, between Jimmy and Lionel,
When out came a magnificent arc.
What a rainbow of clear, shining yellow!
His colleagues all gasped through the steam,
Jim gave in, glanced at Billy’s wee fellow,
And cried “Billy! You MUST join my team!”
Behind them, from inside the cubicle,
Where Frank, the big boss, was “in motion”,
A fanfare burst forth, loud and musical,
To celebrate Billy’s promotion.
So ladies, if you get the feeling,
A hunch your career’s not on track,
It could be the porcelain ceiling,
That’s holding us womenfolk back.
© Nina Parmenter 2018
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