[Ann Drysdale]

Charlie, I think you and I are going head-to-head on this one. (or do I mean ass to arse?)

First time in the Country

First time I stayed with Gran in Steeple Bumpstead
she introduced me to her outdoor privy.
Here was the antidote to playground toilets.
Low porcelain, long chains, Now Wash Your Hands
and cold, unyielding tracing-paper wipes
gave place to a rickety bucket with a lid
in a tin shed at the top of a cottage garden,
newspaper squares threaded on hairy string.

My urgent expedition that first morning
was a damp-slippered trek through dewy daisies
to sit enthroned in solitary splendour,
the door propped open with a mossy brick,
seeing the sun poke slowly through a reedbed
to fondle the ginger cat under the asters;
hearing the hot trickle rumble into the bucket
to an improvised accompaniment of larks.