THE BEDPAN


When I had my operation, I displayed a lot of guts; I could take
it, smile and like it, but the bed pan drove me nuts.


When nature called, I'd call the nurse; and when I called she ran
and soon I'd have my carcass, parked upon that gosh-darned pan.


I'd slide back on my shoulders, but the leverage wasn't there,
and instead of something doing, I'd shoot a flock of air.


And when at last I'd get results, I'd feel around my seat, to see
if I had missed the pan and piled it on the sheet.


There was cold sweat on my forehead, when I'd feel with cautious
care, and with sighs of satisfaction, find not a thing was there.


But now a new contortion, would leave me weak and pale; I'd have
to work and twist and squirm to wipe my poor sore tail.


I'd raise my sitter, high mid-air, this closed the gaping span;
my shaky hand would slip, and then I'd grab that gosh-darn pan.


The muscles of my neck would bulge as I stood upon my head, I'd
make a few wild passes and fall weakly back in bed.


And when I'd ring, the nurse came in and carried off the pan; I'd
wonder why, on such a job, they didn't send a man.


Then finally, I'd settle down, that movement was a treat; but,
wait a minute! What's so warm and wet upon the sheet?


With a gasp of apprehension, I'd slowly raise my gown, and there
beneath my sitter, would be a blotch of brown.

And so, as operations go, I'm a burly, big, he-man; but gosh! It
simply burns me up, when I miss that gosh-darned pan!

... Bedpan - Larger than a pie pan.