The Raven's Po
a Tribute

Once upon a toilet dreary, where I laboured, weak and weary,
Waiting the relief of Senna's potion swallowed just before—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my Bathroom door.
“’Tis here occupied,” I muttered, “cease tapping on my Bathroom door—
This I said and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying stomach gurgle wrought my belly sore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my drugs surcease of sorrow—from IBS I so deplore—
For the rank and chilly porcelain midden between my bottom and the floor—
may trap me here for evermore.

And the rough, sad,  rustling issue of the purple unused tissue

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my Bathroom door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my Bathroom door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was crapping, and so rudely you came rapping,
And unwelcome you came tapping, tapping at my Bathroom door,
That I scarce believed I heard you”—banging on the bathroom door;—
Silence then and nothing more.

Deep into that silence listening, long I sat there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream below;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Hello?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “hello!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the Bathroom turning, all my bowels within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely this is something without manners;
Go away, then, what the problem, and I my bolt did draw —
Let my heart be still a moment and this excremental flaw;—
’Maybe trapped wind, nothing more!”

Openly here I did stutter, when, with many a fart and flutter,

I strained to hear, vain and craven as in the saintly days of yore;
For the least dissonance made not he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, doubtless did this lord or lady, perched outside of my Bathroom door—
Perched hand upon the brass door handle impatient for my Bathroom door—
To open wide and nothing more.

Knowing this one beguiling in my sad fancy evilly smiling,
Set my grave and stern decorum of my stomach sore,
“If I know you're outside listening,” said I, “thence I cannot go,
My irritable bowel is so, bashful and will inwardly withdraw—
Tell me why thy waiting must be done this Night’s outside my bathroom door!”
Said the lurker Nothing more.

Much I marvelled in this ungainly foul urinal  plainly,

Though his none answer —little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing beyond his closed Bathroom door—
No X-Ray vision upon the sculptured woodworking of his Bathroom door,
With such no such power evermore.”

But the monster, sitting lonely on the outside, did lurk only

With no sound or word, as his soul no word did implore.
That Nothing farther I should utter—no defecation should I splutter—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Oh friend I have pleaded thee before—
Oh will you leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
And relief, I shall find here Nevermore.

Startled at the stillness still unbroken by reply still unspoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what you utters might leave me in awe
Should you speak unhappy master for my guts are in Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster this IBS a burden that I bore—
Till the dirges of Hopeless melancholy movement as afore
will release me ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the outsider still beguiling in my fancy wickedly smiling,

Had wheeled a cushioned seat in front of the still closed bath room door;
Then, within the toilet stinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this one wants, what is the score?—
What is this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous one of yore
doing outside of my private bathroom door?

So I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

For the foulness fiery spices now burn'd my intestine's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the porcelain hard wood lining that the lamp-light floated o’er,
I ask of fly blown dimming bulb the lamp-light floated o’er,
should I BM now or, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the toilet's watery floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “My God relents me—by these devils he hath sent me
Respite—respite and relief from IBS that I deplore
Splash and tinkle merciful release and wrinkle the dismissal I did implore!”
Oh Senna allow this torture“Nevermore.”

“You outside!” said I, “thing of evil!—I have beat thee manor devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—I tell you truly, up my pants I draw—
For there is a balm in Gilead? And I shall open up this door!”
Quoth the stranger nothing more.”

“So be this our day of parting, impatient sod!” I shrieked, still farting—

“Get thee back I warn you, back well from this door!
For I leave a plume as a token of that task my bowels hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the other side my door!
Take a break before you enter, and take ten minutes say before,”
Quoth I. “or perhaps a little more.”

But the Stranger, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

In the dark Outside beyond my Bathroom door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And now I fear infested, cannot dare that wretch detested
that sits invested on the other side of my bathroom door
and traps me here forever more.