The Prestonic Piddler

My sister in law was very, very not drunk at all on holiday, when she revealed to the assembled masses that she sent her husband down the garden to wee on the compost

Can I have a quick word in your ear ?
(I have) something to tell you you see
My brother in law makes urea
and enriches his compost with wee

He sneaks down the garden at midnight
It must be in darkness I think
and he climbs up the mountain of compost
having had lots of water to drink

Their tea bags and potato peelings
Old newspapers, rotting and faded
Are all piled in a heap
Onto which Presto leaps
Just waiting to be biodegraded

His experience shows, he’s sure footed
He don’t tumble, or slide – never slips
He just stands there astride his leftovers
And confidently starts to unzip

He unleashes the Prestonic Piddler
The wondrous pride of the nation
Cometh Mark, cometh hour
He lets loose a great shower
Of nitrate enriched irrigation

My Son’s Nappy

The urine jet’s mighty impressive
as it shoots twenty feet in the sky
he fires off two golden arches
and wails as he wees in your eye

The flailing and gesticulation
makes changing his nappy quite tough
As if forty three million poppers to pop
Isn’t torturing Dad quite enough

It’s “Oh God” O’Clock in the morning
You can hardly believe you’re awake
And a spectacle full of your baby son’s wee
Is a challenging shower to take
without cursing or muttering naughties
which you’ve promised your wife you won’t do
So you wipe super-fast
in case cleaning his arse
Unleashes a torrent of poo