Picasso Splashes and Other Stains

There’s a monster at home that lurks in our loo,

It deletes all the training in boys and men too.

It sprinkles the walls with pee-coloured spray,

And ‘apparently’ no-one has made it that way.

 

I ask once again, ‘who pee’d on the wall’,

Not me, not you or the dad who’s so tall?

The shrugs and ‘don’t knows’ echo round the thin room,

The lowering of heads fill my vision with gloom.

 

How big does the pan need to be to be sure,

That no more mistakes end up on the floor?

Do I need to bring back the potty and wipes,

So you all learn again how to aim to the right?

 

Or maybe it’s left, I can’t really tell,

as a waft of stale urine creates a bad smell.

Whats wrong, can’t you flush! I shout out, head in hands,

As a pool of light yellow smiles up from the pan.

 

Flashes of Rembrandt with colours galore,

Monet may have added some toothpaste gore,

To Picasso splashed toilets that we all can’t stand,

A clean fresh ceramic was always our plan.

 

The bucket and mop – new sheriffs in town,

I hand them both over, ignoring the frowns.

They clean up the mess, I stand hands on hip,

They wipe it all up and I point ‘missed a bit’.

 

Now doesn’t that smell like a big jar of nice,

A dry seat in the house with no pee stains in sight?

The bathroom’s now gleaming with freshly cleaned walls,

I admire the view from my place in the hall.

 

I could add an arrow to show the right course,

To take when they’re peeing, perhaps ‘use the force’.

No need for light-sabers when taking a leak,

Just plain common sense, every day of the week.