When they moved into their home eighteen years ago,
they inherited two round, functional toilets. They
have served the family well, never-overflowing,

but he got to thinking about purchasing new ones
because new ones can have extended seats for more
room. They have a lot of company in the summer

and he got to thinking about the male guests not
having a lot of room, so he looked into new toilets,
got a price and then with other expenses looming,

he decided to keep the same toilets but buy one,
commercial open faced cover with top as a stop-
gap maneuver just to give it a try. He attached

it and closed the covers for the plastic screws,
but they wouldn’t stay down. They pop-up, first
left then right like mouths opening to speak,

if not to break out in song. They are up when
he enters and he pushes them down and then they
pop-up: hell-o. And then he pushes them down

before he leaves: good-bye. Sometimes they wait
until he is just about out the door: good-bye.
Hell-o, good-bye, hell-o, good-bye — a talking

toilet. Maybe he should just get the new toilets.
Besides, they are two and a half-inches taller and
he’s not getting any younger.

Sometimes, in the morning, only the left one
pops up: “Hell.” Oh, well, some days just
start like that.