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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I had cycled to Upper Montclair It was humid, hot, smoke in the air. I was sweaty, and smelled of Deet circles under my eyes, and I was beat. It was Sunday, I'm agnostic, or I'd be in church Anyway, my state flipped to desperate search I went to the gas station, to the staff I made a plea I said "Do you have a bathroom; this is an emergency." The owner said "sorry, not for your kind." So I pedaled off, nearly out of my mind. I saw a port-o-potty, with a lock on the door Seemed to defeat the purpose, what it's made for. A drug store was open, I gave a sigh of relief But the bathroom was out of order, this was beyond belief. I scanned the trees, but each patch of green Had a house, a dog, or a camera unseen. (chorus) When nature calls, on a Sunday morn You forget the rose and feel the thorn. It isn’t just pain—it’s a primal shame, When the bathroom calls you by your name. Finally, I rode my bicycle through church doors The crowd looked shocked, but when it rains, it pours. The priest pointed out the restroom, I just made it there And thanked heaven for religion in Upper Montclair. I had made my fortune shorting the Lebanese pound So I gave ten thousand dollars to each parishioner, shock all around Shook every hand, then rolled out of there, The faithful will remember that day in Montclair.
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