Bathroom Inequality

Have you ever seen,

A woman’s commode?

The kind that is public - Not at your abode

It happened to me,

By accident one day.

I strolled right on in – to my surprise I must say.

I knew right away,

That something was amiss.

The floor wasn’t sticky – it didn’t smell like piss.

There was a couch and some chairs

And paint on the walls.

The air was perfumed – doors hung on the stalls.

I was there but a moment,

Yet got a look about.

Then women glared at me angrily – as I slowly backed out.

I located my bathroom,

It was four steps to the right.

As I entered the room – my sphincter shut up tight.

How could I go back,

Given where I had been.

From the bathroom of angels – to the devil’s trash bin.

It smelled worse than it looked,

Though I know not how that could be.

I took a cautious step in – and slipped on some pee.

I fell to my back,

And as I lay on the floor,

I could three stalls down – where there was poop on the door.

The worse part of all,

Were the sounds I could hear.

There were groans and some farts – And someone upchucking a beer.

With considerable effort,

I got unstuck from the floor.

I’d seen the unfairness – I couldn’t take it any more.

I marched back over,

To the room painted pink.

I dropped down my trousers – and took a dump in their sink.

Now I have time to consider,

How I will make bail.

Cause there ain’t nothing worse – than the toilets in jail