Bus poem

Here’s a small poem, a little ode,
concerning the Addington bus with no commode;
A long trip and the cold weather
put some at the end of their tether

The trip was but 80 Ks distant
when one or two members became insistent;
confusingly the toilet carpark sign said “pay and display”
an unfortunate mix-up necessitating a quick get away

Barely out of Ashburton, Matt became certain
a plaintive decree “I need a pee”
But the collective voices said that’s not to be
Wait till Timaru then we’ll see

Poor Matt – his legs crossed, his knuckles white
A sudden fright would have made a sorry sight;
Although he bore it stoically, there’s nothing sadder
than a horn player with a bursting bladder

At Timaru, his eyes all misty
Matt shot out quicker than Linford Christie;
Clearly audible were the groans of relief
“it’s better than sex – that’s my belief”

Sam picked a good spot to leave a drop
the longest hill, the steepest incline –
strangely right next to a “wash out” sign
But Sam’s wisdom is not infinite
He should have wee’d with the wind and not agin it

So the moral of this story is
Don’t fizz and tizz through want of a whizz;
Plan ahead, drink at a steady pace
and, in a real emergency, use the B flat base.