To some men its a place where time stands still. A trip to the bathroom is like travelling to another dimension, not knowing what in the hell they were doing in there all that time.

This poem is dedicated to those dads who spend too much time pooping. You know who you are.

While you were pooping,

I washed breakfast dishes

Got the kids dressed, and

Quite against my wishes,

Held in my own poop,

Considered a diaper

And scouted the neighbors’

Where I’d plant a sniper

Took my own poop

With toddler on knee

Asking, “you done?”

So he could be my flushee

I let out the dog,

And he pooped in the yard

With you behind a closed door

I was Captain Picard

Because I made it so

Kept our family together

Packed up the car,

Researched the weather

I wait for your flush,

Not that I’m snooping,

But the whole morning passed

While you were pooping

If pooping were productive

You’d accomplish a lot

But I am stuck doing everything

While you sit on the pot.