The Toilet Eats Your Children

The toilet eats your children
But just the ones
You don’t like

It waits until they have to go

In the middle of the night
And then—Poof!

All gone

You’ll wake up in the morning

And there’ll be one extra seat

At the breakfast bench

A little bit more cereal
A little more toast

A spoonful more of scrambled eggs

Left on the purple breakfast plate

And are you sad?
Well, how can you be sad?
You don’t realize they’re gone

And they’re not dead or hurt

They’re just—somewhere else

The toilet eats your children
And sends them

Down into the plumbing

And you know what?

They have fun!

They love it!
It's a blast!

Kids love water

And wetness

And sliding down

Dark tubes

Into other dark tubes

Until they wind up

In some polluted lake

Or ocean

With everything else

The toilet eats

Meanwhile, you head to work
And drink your coffee

And check your mail
And try to remember
Someone’s birthday

It’s your child’s birthday
The child the toilet ate

But you don’t know that

You know the birthdays

Of the children you like but—

You can't quite remember
What it is
You're forgetting

It’s the sensation of having something

You used to have
But don’t have
Anymore

Like money
Or patience

Or time

Except in this case

It’s a child

A child who’s sitting on a garbage barge
In the middle of the ocean

Plotting their return

To your breakfast table

So he or she can scoop up the last

Of the scrambled eggs

Taking one solitary bite

Of the last piece of toast

You, on the other hand, are imagining a vacation

With the children you have left

Trips to places you would never consider visiting

If you had that one extra child

The toilet knows this

It knows everything
And it’s pleased as punch
To know that it made your life
A little easier

And when your child returns

--And they always return

The toilet will wait until the middle of the night

And send him or her

Back down into the pipes again

All while you sleep soundly
Wondering whose birthday it is
Tomorrow