In rainbow hues, a monument;
that reaches to a bright blue sky.
The toilet seats of Mexico, lost
but somewhere, they must be.
 
The mystery of the missing seats.
The cold comfort of porcelain rim,
that leave a mark on mind and bum;
when mem’ries of adventures dim.
 
They must be stacked, a tower tall.
Babel like, to reach the sun.
No thought of language parity;
no just a chilling end‘ity.
 
And we must rest upon our hands,
or suspend ends, while muscles ache.
This we hope in cause of art.
in which our nether ends take part.

 
 
David Garlick,  Puerto Vallarta, February. 1997