But oh, to do battle with that iv’ry
villain. Neptune wielded rubber and wood;
‘twas not he that sole bastion of lively
endurance, the pinnacle of manhood?
There stood he, the last warrior against
the ebb and flow in that porcelain bowl,
clutched in the grip of his right hand: incense.
Of his faculties many would extol,
but this—oh this!—could this indeed become
that final battle wherein his story
would end? But no, his weapon was still plumb,
and this would not end an allegory.
For down he now pushed; the water rushes,
and with a glug, lo! The toilet flushes.