The Perfect Circle.

 Who wants to tread down
and up, two flights of stair?
to sit in a shithouse
exchanging affairs
through a paper-thin wall
with Nigerian Buddhists
and scrubbers on call
to judges and tourist

how does one build
an en suite garret doo-doo
to hurl through a window
to watch where the poo flew

well
one shits in one’s sock
swings it round
swings it out
best done with a motion
that's sturdy and stout

my socks became famous
people enquired
where do they come from?
where did they reside
the shitty socked parcels
for some were a bummer
the stench was atrocious
especially in summer

I laughed and joked
with the rest of locals
tried solving the mystery
with all the pub yokels
my gusto was boundless
till that fateful night
in my drunken stupor
with laughing delight
I emptied my bowels
filled a sock up with shite

it swung and it flew
cleared the skylight with grace
it thudded on pavement
in just the right place
I collapsed into slumber
whilst holding my cock
awoke to the dawn
and the loudest of knocks

it was only my landlord
in need of the rent
I paid him with money
my mother had sent

he smiled, I smiled
he frowned, so did I
what’s the circle of shit?
he asked scratching his eye
what circle of shit?
asked I
stroking my chin
How could he know
I'd committed a sin

my god I thought
as I saw what he saw
a circle of shit
on the door
on the floor
the arc swept the ceiling
and passed over bed
I’d even sprayed brown stuff
all over small Ted

it was then I recalled
which sock I had thrown
the one with the hole in
it hadn’t been sewn