Latrine Sonnet

The odor hits me before I arrive,
Stench of dung and decay greet my entry.
Lizards abound as though sprung from a hive
While cockroaches below wriggle in sentry.
The cement is cold, toilet paper old,
And sometimes not quite enough to finish.
But ah! The relief when done was untold
When I was too busy being squeamish.
Be it resolve or compulsion that brought
Me to the pit and relieve what I felt,
I know I am privileged to never have thought,
“But where can I poop and promote public health?”
It was never as bad, or as gross as it seemed.
I must appreciate having my own latrine*.

--
*Because I’m one of the few who do.

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