Royal Flush

I wanted to be a circuit preacher when I finished Bible school.
I never would get rich but I’d be Gods pliant tool.

Building a reputation, practice preaching on weekends;
I’d taught in lots of churches and I’d made a lot of friends.

One little country church, I had liked especially.
I preached there several Sundays and they thought me family.

One deacon there, a Godly man, I really did appreciate.
And after Sunday services, the deacon’s home is where I ate.

They fixed my favorite food when they knew that I was coming.
The house was very country but it did have indoor plumbing.

The bathroom had an old iron tub, up on legs like some giant bug.
The ancient toilet was the kind my Grandpa called a thunder jug.

The nearest neighbor a mile away could hear its every flush;
It made the children giggle and caused the deacon s wife to blush.

The message came on Tuesday morning, it really ruined my day.
My deacon friend, the Godly man, had suddenly passed away.

I had never preached a funeral; just the thought had made me nervous
But the deacon’s wife had asked that I perform the service.

The deacon’s house was full of people; there was hardly room to walk.
The wife and I had looked around for a private place to talk.

The bathroom was the only place where we could be alone.
The wife sat on the bathtub edge and I sat on the “throne”.

We planned a lovely funeral, each detail thought with care.
And then we bowed together and ended with a prayer.

Still deep in blissful reverence, we both began to stand.
Then from force of habit, I flipped the lever with my hand.

The talking in the hallway became a silent hush.
No matter how you try, you can’t unflush a flush.


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