I watched a movie,
decades back
about the Little Boy Emperor of Manchuria
whose bowel movements,
left in a golden bowl,
were a matter of emperial concern.
His eunuch servant
sniffed the little boys droppings
and diagnosed:
“More meat! His Royal Highness
needs more meat!”
where-upon beef and pork
by the steer and pig
were piled on his golden plate
in a profusion of tasty receipts.
All this so his poop smell
would satisfy his syncophants.

Such preoccupation
with defecation
slides up and down the social scale,
effecting even mere mortals,

like my grandson,
the sole surviving male
in my daughters single parent home
who was constantly clogging the commode
with enormous poop grenades
flushed only partially down the pipe.

It fell to me,
the least embarassing candidate,
to teach him that portion
of the facts of life.

Sitting on the bowl,
(fully clothed, of course!)
while grandson sat on the bath-tub ledge,
I began my professorial lecture
in my usual, convoluted manner.

“Flush twice, Brandon!
It’s a long way to the kitchen!
Ha Ha, just kidding!
(a joke to lighten the, ah, load…)
But seriously, now,
first flush for the poop,
second for the paper,
and,
do yourself a favor,
take this on faith,
it is unnecessary to enlist
half a roll each time you
answer Natures call.
In fact,
and remember this, Grandson,
it is important for all:
THE BIGGER THE DEPOSIT, THE LESS CLEAN UP AFTER,
an excellent maxim to adhere to
both inside and outside
the loo.
Two squares of Charmin
used twice when folded
are sufficient.
Percision and frugality,
combined in hygene,
do nicely.

The young, mortified lad
paid heed.
The clogs,
by all reports,
receed.

Sometimes the rolls we are
called to play
sink to levels we would not
ordinarily chose,
but are necessary to clarify
those crude toilet rules
necessary for survival
in our otherwise,
less
– septic
system.