Our First Honey Bucket

shit, I never heard her say before-

until the mustard colored liquid

splashed out of the gray painters

pail staining her jeans moist

an alcove, a closet, the perfect

throne room for the five gallon

urinal adorned with a black

polymer horseshoe shaped seat

forty below Fahrenheit and

you adroitly hover over an

unflushable portable rather

than voyage to a far

distant frozen outhouse

today my tinkle tinkles

into the porcelain lav

and I can hear her cry

out as the snow melts

the ground beneath her

feet sinking into an overflow

of amber dandelion hue discharge