No they don't Maryann. I'm working on the thing you sit on in the loo. I, being English midle class call it the lavatory, though that is really the room. What do you call it. What does anyone call it? Toilet? Loo? But that's the room too.
Anyway, here's a draft. I don't see how it can really be called Talking Pictures, but that's Lucy's problem. A bit Gilbertian I can't halp thinking, but then a lot of my stuff is. Would I had his godlike skill.
I am that poor closet
Where humans deposit.
I sorrow, because it
Can never be mine,
To share in your leisure,
Those moments you treasure,
The joys without measure
That make you divine.
In winter or summer
This life is a bummer.
It’s time for a plumber,
The end of the line,
When life such a farce is,
A wretched catharsis,
A parking of arses,
A grunting of swine.
|