Toiletry

[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

I’ve heard it on good authority
That the overwhelming majority
Would prefer a good splishy splash bidet
To the rash inducing rubbing of toilet pa-pay.

I’ve heard it through the old vine of grape
That the slender neck, at the very nape,
Where the Tower of Ivory meets the floor,
Is the best place for cat hair to gather its strength, or

perhaps I’ve been swayed by lies and farce,
That this hair develops a skill for parse,
But on cold nights I can hear them whisper,
“We Dust Bunny Cat Monkeys are after your Lisp, Sir.”

“Sir?” – my alarm cry – “I…I…I’m a girl,”
Of sugar and spice and a bouncing curl.
“Ho, no,” sigh the Dusties, “we’ve seen your face,
And from our lowered perspective you have a man’s grace.”

And I’ve heard it said once and twice before,
Not just from cat hair on the bathroom floor,
That I’ve got the look of a boy in me,
So you're welcome, Dust Monkeys, to climb my Toilet Tree.