I dreamed I was failing
on the loo. Blocked. Wrong.
Because it was a dream
I hooked my finger in.
A plastic bag!
Another!
A crisp packet!
Cling wrap!
When had I swallowed all that?
I couldn’t think
but there it was—
plastic plastic plastic
coming out of me.
It is
what it is
I intoned
as I pulled and pulled.
When
it stopped
I produced
a pristine poo
fit for a composting toilet
a dried-dung fire
a village pig—
or just a hole in the earth
beneath a tree …
First published in Turbine | Kapohau December 2024
Jackson 