Midnight Minuet
Sneaking down the unlit hall,
we take turns answering nature’s call,
awaiting our own turn to sneak
to the john to have a leak.
In the darkness, we repeat
this rather tricky hourly feat.
Him, then her, then me at last.
So are our nightly ramblings cast.
It is not choice that brings us here
to void ourselves of pop or beer.
In fact, a full night’s sleep we seek—
our intentions strong, but bladders weak.
At eleven, twelve and one and two,
sleeping is what we’d rather do.
Instead, we do-si-do—just missing
the next sojourner bent on pissing!
This poem is dedicated to all of those over sixty who find themselves taking more nightly journeys down the hall than in the past. Perhaps, like me, you are a houseguest. If so, there is no avoiding the nocturnal shuffle if your hosts, like you, are of a certain age.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt is Nocturnal
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Real pisser of a poem, Judy.
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ha
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Oh yeah. That’s true, sad, and hilarious all at the same time.
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As so much is at this age. Gotta smile and make use of it.
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Hahaha! The Nocturnal Shuffle comes to us all, eventually.
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Requires friends our own age!
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That was good fun and so nicely done. Well done, Judy.
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Thanks, Mason. True story.
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Indeed, I am not so old yet, and I have to get up some nights, super frustrating!
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One is good. Wait until it is two or three!
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Then I’ll just doze in a chair haha.
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Haha! A fun look at the bathroom visits of the night.
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Lol! That’s my husband and I! Do-si-do!😂
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