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The outhouse beckoned to Grandmaw one
day,
She eagerly answered its call.
And since the town didn’t have plumbing
yet,
It was the outhouse or nothing at all.
She hurried out to the small wooden shack
And opened the lopsided door,
The musty, cool darkness promised relief
As did the toilet paper on the floor.
Grandmaw went on in and tugged down her
pants
And hovered right over the seat,
Balancing like all southern women do,
As she stared down at her dusty bare
feet.
Then she looked up as she saw something
shift
In the shadows above the door,
Grandmaw froze up like a deer on the
road,
As a big snake descended to the floor.
Grandmaw, still hovering over the hole,
Yelled at the snake so it would go,
It didn’t care for the tone of her
voice
So it hissed and lunged at her bare toes.
Grandmaw hollered and ran out of the
shack
Pulling up her pants in her haste,
Grandpaw saw the whole thing from the
porch,
Laughing and wiping the tears from his
face.
Uncle Jack witnessed Grandmaw’s flight,
He blushed from his feet to his head,
He’d never seen his momma’s bare
bottom before
And it made his face turn bright red.
They never let Grandmaw live that one
down,
The whole story was passed with glee,
About the day that Grandmaw raced a snake
That prevented her from taking a pee.
© Dana Sieben
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