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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #1631957
A protest poem about ladie's restrooms.
I cross my legs and lean on the edge of my seat.
Rocking  back and forth,
I peer at the clock in desperation.
I finish scribbling the answer of y= x+3.

Rushing up to the front desk I throw down my paper.
“Mrs. Teacher! May I please go to the bathroom?” I spit out.
They nod and I sprint to the bathroom.

I slam open the door.
Crashing through the stalls I am appalled.
Every single toilet is filled,
filled with gunk and goo.
Why can’t people just flush?

This is incredulous,
absolutely preposterous!
Red and brown and yellow, are you blind, can’t you see?

Toilets are made with a handle for a reason.
TO BE FLUSHED! This act is one of treason.
They should not just be used when the dear gold fish dies.
The handle should be used every time.
No exceptions, I will never give in, even for a dime.

Some people tape up signs.
These signs are just ripped off and tore up.
The signs read, Please Flush.
Two simple words, no hating or discriminating.
This is all for one and one for all,
yet girls still don’t flush.

This world would have more smiles and laughter.
If only people flushed down the disaster!
It’s simple and easy, it’s kind and wise.
Just flush and everything will be fine.

I speed walk through the bathrooms until I find that one stall.
I sing halleluiah to the only thing listening, the poor wall.
I squat down on the seat, what a relief it is to pee.
I wipe and I zip, then I turn around to flush.
I wash my hands and sigh to myself,
flushing is good by and by.
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