In my next life, I wish to be
the guardian of the public toilets in Kyle,
risking smiles at Japanese tourists with a yen to see
the facilities, observing tourists' relaxed grins after miles
of cross-legged journeys in their cars,
hearing their collective flush resound over Lochalsh,
asking them if they have travelled far
to go over the sea to Skye in the whip and lash
of rain, reading five star reviews of loos in news
websites, asking them 'will ye no' come back again?'.
Oh, I know there'll be frustrations. Some who will lose
their 20ps at the entrance. Others who will strain
and unbuckle belts while rushing for a cubicle.
There will be those who will race and vault
the metal bars, having small regard for the still,
calm atmosphere I have attempted to create within the walls
of this convenience. The maps. The plants. The adverts
for Tingle Creek hotel. Ross County FC souvenirs.
But I will learn to live with that – the hurts
caused by the uncultured, the sneers
of those who fail to note or recognise
that when man's at his most basic, he should raise his eyes
to all that can uplift him, that even from the toilet seat
he would be advised
always to look upwards and appreciate the skies.