W. Barthautz, Dutch
“I’ll Empty Your Chamber Pot and Have It Back To You in a Minute, Ma’am. By the Way, I’d Appreciate It If Next Time You Didn’t Put My Tip at the Bottom,” Between 1700 and 1800
Pen in gray, brush in watercolor
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/// Lotte leaned on the latched lower door.
Spoke to Joep, (whom she’d not seen before).
“Run along, or I’m telling
‘bout the pot that you’re selling.”
Joep said, “That ain’t illegal no more!”
/// If somebody seemed likely to buy,
Joep would take them aside and imply
that, so strong was his pot,
if a stool they had not,
they could climb up on top to get high.
/// Though he claims he grew up in Ohio,
Joep’s half Mexican, (so says his bio).
A large pot can conceal a
quart of potent tequila,
when he celebrates Cinco de Mayo.
/// The boy empties the pot ‘neath her “throne.”
(For the odor he bathes in cologne.)
A man way down the block
shouted, “Look at that crock!”
Did he mean the boy’s pot or the crone?
/// On the street, one must not misconstrue
a quick shout from above, “Gardyloo!”
If you don’t dodge or duck
you’ll be spattered with muck
and the rest of the day smell like poo.
/// “Rainbow’s end’s where I seen what I seen;
‘twas a little man all dressed in green.
It’s his crock that I hold,
but there’s no magic gold!”
She: “You just stole a dwarf’s soup tureen.”
> or <
/// At her brothel, the boy cried, “I’m male!
Let me in!” It was to no avail.
She said, “Men come inside.
If you’re hoping to ride,
you must grow to the height of this nail.”
> or <
/// “You say this is a pot you can piss in?
That’s a start, but there’s still somethin’ missin’.
If your new wife you’d keep,
you’ll need someplace to sleep.
Go and get her a cot you can kiss in.”