Forced Remodeling

I don’t mind a fearless toilet every once in a while,
but there comes a point at which it’s all too much.
I mean, having your downstairs toilet just up and go,
slide out the back door into the yard and disappear
for Crissakes.  
What’s worse, however,
I mean the absolute worst,
clearly it took hostages.
Now the upstairs toilet has gone missing,
and I can only suspect coercion or bribery,
some sort of malfeasance.

Upon closer examination,
they–the runaway toilets–lifted a few items
from both bathrooms.
One medicine cabinet and linoleum flooring
left blatant voids,
a rectangular hollow
in the canary colored wall downstairs and
the 1960s avocado and brown squared linoleum vacancy
in the top.
A chalk dust trail of scuffle and drag into the yard
made my detective work easy. 


No motive to hang my ass cheeks over,
but I’ll gamble a guess that they got tired,
fed up with getting shat upon,
chided for being old, chipped and wasteful,
and so walked.
They’re definitely gone–
no trace but the chalk prints.
Rather an aggressive move,
but not much else to do now but find replacements.

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