Copyright Sue Nicholls. Just ask and link back if you want to use it
This poem is on the wall in our loo to beseech people not to chuck any old rubbish into our macerator.
We didn’t want a macerator one bit,
But we needed something to process our ?squit?,
Which needed to be, shall we say, glutin-ous?
To pass through a pipe to the back of the house.
When somebody flushes the blades spin around
‘Til the poo’s the right texture to get underground
The loo makes a noise but it’s nothing to worry,
About it’s the ?squit? being turned into slurry.
It is these blades spinning that I need to dwell on,
‘Cos they don’t combine well with the string of a tampon
When you add to the mixture some more types of crud,
Like a couple of wet wipes and a cotton bud.
Then the loo starts a rumble that grows to a roar,
You can hear the vibration right through the floor
The bowl fills with water, it’s quite a disaster
But not as unpleasant as what follows after?
Not wishing to go too far for convention,
Suffice it to say it needs manual intervention
And so to avoid this unpleasant affair,
PLEASE, select what you put down the toilet with care.