Powder Room

The one downstairs.
adjacent to the hall closet,
but with an achingly tiny window.
the walls were "powder" blue
the towels had no substance
so, thankfully,
it had no bath.
You see, it's a room to pat your hands with
decorative paper and to dust your nose
in the pedestal sink.
of course there is a toilet,
but one does not speak of such things,
one shudders to think.
And because
there was
no "BAAAHth",
Only a trained monkey--
would call it a BATHroom
Only an insolent child
would call it the RESTroom.
and would be quickly
Corrected.
"You're not going there to REST
you're going there to do
unspeakable things, but whatever
you do make sure to tell others
you are only going there to powder
your nose."
God forbid you call it --
the Water Closet, the Lou,
The shitter...too many
allusions to what one is really
busying-oneself-doing...(huh?)
But sometimes little girls forget they
are in a bowl full of mixed nut
company--
suffocating in itchy white tights.
Alternating feet in their
patent leather Mary Janes,
while...
tugging the pant leg of
Uncle Dunstan, and Aunt
Georgiamine.
"Please", her little voice trembles,
may I be excused to use the b-"
Eyebrows furrow...
"the r-"
Eyes roll and eyelashes flutter...
"the puh-puh-powder room?"
patronizing laughter
rumbles about the walls
of the sitting room
Someone smiles politely
and takes her hand,
gripping it tightly-
"Yes," they say.
"If you say please..."
"Please..." she groans and then
quickly clears the imaginary
frog from her throat
"You may..."
and with that she is released
from grip, she will then whip
around the banister, flying...
just as she begins to feel
a warm stream of relief
trickling down her leg.