The Outhouse Trilogy

The outhouse was a rather remarkable contraption.

It was an object of universal need

yet it was simple and cheap to build.

It could be fabricated on the spot with simple tools

and always worked without failure.

It never stopped up, seldom overflowed,

and never froze in Winter,

although the same could not always 

be said for its inhabitants.  

--------

Daddy Longlegs hung from the ceiling of the small house,

their bodies gently oscillating up and down upon their long legs.

And when the sun moved over the horizon

roaches scurried from cracks in the flour

doing whatever roaches do to while away their time.

The little house was also home for a variety of spiders

all of which seemed to spend their nights spinning webs

that glistened brightly in the dawning light.

Mice shared the tiny basement beneath the old wooden floor

with snakes and beetles and other crawling vermin

although their presence was only occasionally announced.

Although the little house was a veritable zoo,

most of us referred to it simply as “the outhouse.”  

 --------

The outhouse was a place where one could be alone.

Raindrops on its roof were quiet and gentle

and wind whistled through its cracks with a pleasant whine.

It was the place to be when storms passed through.

A place protected from the elements

yet so closely surrounded by the storm

that one could feel the winds and rain and hail

penetrating deep into his very soul.

I would not trade my indoor plumbing for my old outhouse.

Yet the outhouse remains clearly in my mind

perhaps surprisingly,

as a pleasant memory of years long gone.