A Plop in the Poop

A vignette about knowing one’s limitations

Tolbert
2 min readJul 18, 2021

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Written 9/8/1994 with revisions 7/18/2021

It was a winter day, a very nippy one at that. Around 4 pm, when the sun was already set or nearly setting. I had to go to the barn to do chores. All our animals water containers needed defrosting because temps had been beyond below freezing.

I had to help my brother every time our calves’ water tank needed refilling. This day was no exception. I had to climb over a palleted fence with my short legs and top heavy body to get to the tank, then walk over aged mounds of manure that were piled high. I told my brother it was full enough and started back to the palleted fence.

Arriving at the fence, I could not find a foothold like was available on the opposite side. I tried putting my hands atop the fence and heaving my right leg up and over but lost control. Realizing nearly too late that I was off balance and headfirst careening towards a wheelbarrow full of manure.

The “tub of terror” was within mere inches of my eyes. I struggled in the final few seconds to right myself and get far away from the rank pile. I managed to pull myself up further and then jump to unsoiled ground. My near poop plunge was never far from my mind when doing chores. From then on, I found a different entry and exit route learning that Parkour was not in my future.

A red wheelbarrow full of brush, debris, and trash sits in front of a white brick wall.
Photo by Rachel Claire from Pexels

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Tolbert

Librarian and Information Specialist by day. Queer writer of poetry, sensuality, personal experience, and health by night. Instagram @tolbert_on_medium #BLM✊🏿