Wow! What an unexpected surprise to receive your comment on my blog. As was stated in the blog, the Ode to a Bedpan was found with many family poems written by mother and her 4 sisters as well as several generations of their ancestors. It was very similar to the poems that they wrote. Most Christmas presents were accompanied by poetry. All 5 sisters are gone now so we have no way of checking where the poem came from but we never doubted that one of them had written it. We have had a number of discussions about who wrote it with different family members favoring one sister or another.

Now, I am curious as to how they came upon the poem. What hospital where you in when the poem was “leaked?

I have added your comment to my blog. This has been a very popular listing. Every once in a while someone discovers it and shares it with friends and I see a flurry of hits. Now you will get credit for it.

Thanks for your comment. I hope to hear from you again to solve the mystery of how our family came across this “masterpiece”.

While recovering from an illness
I was terribly annoyed
For the bathroom was denied me
And a bedpan was employed.

I argued for a thunder mug
But I was told instead
That under no condition
Could I get out of bed.

What I said about that bedpan
Could have landed me in jail
And the agonies I suffered
Prompted me to write this tale.

Twas in the early hours of morning
Just before the bread of day
Came a warning so insistent
That I dare not disobey.

My nurse brought me a bedpan
And it cannot be denied
That chills began to seize me
When the vessel touched my side.

Upside down I struggled
For the beverage wasn’t there.
But with a mighty effort
I expelled a bit of air.

Trouble new had just begun
And I was filled with dread.
I wasn’t sure I’d hit the pan
Or piled it on the bed.

Racked with fear and trembling
I slowly raised my gown
And glimpsed upon the sheeting
A horrid spot of brown.

The laws of gravitation
Demonstrated sure as fate
That you cannot stand upon your head
When you evacuate.

Another problem now arose
As I was soon to find
For how could I negotiate
To wipe the place behind.

My neck was nearly broken
As I balanced on my head.
I made a few wild passes
And fell weakly on the bed.

Twas then I voiced a fervent plea
As one in anguish can
For someone to improve upon
That medieval pan.

It seems to me what would suffice
Is neither pan nor diaper
But a back-adjusting thunder mug
With an automatic wiper.

Rose E. Kanter
Feb. 1955