They have unsung gems–Emily Dickinson’s Skinny Domicile, William Carlos Williams’ I Will Alarm Islamic Owls. And T.S. Eliot’s Toilets.
by T.S. Eliot
Let us go then, to the john,
Where the toilet seat waits to be sat upon
Like a lover’s lap perched upon ceramic;
Let us go, through doors that do not always lock,
Which means you ought to knock
Lest opening one reveal a soul within
Who’ll shout, “Stay out! Did you not see my shin,
Framed within the gap twixt floor and stall?”
No, I did not see that at all.
That is not what I saw, at all.
To the stall the people come to go,
Reading an obscene graffito.
We have lingered in the chamber labeled “Men”
Till attendants proffer aftershave and mints
As we lather up our hands with soap, and rinse.
Volume Two has William Blake, Ogden Nash and e.e. cummings (“nice smug me”); Volume Three has Shakespeare, Dylan Thomas and H.D.; Volume Four has Basho (haiku: Has B.O., and Ah, SOB) and Maya Angelou. And don’t forget The Holy Tango of Drama.