The Outhouse Poem by Juan Olivarez

Two hundred feet on the north side of the house,
Stinking in the hot August sun,
(The prevailing winds were always from the south) ,
Stood the outhouse.
As I approached it, I remembered Atilano's warning,
Don't let your testicles swing underneath the hole,
Black Widows make their nests there.
Since I was only going to make a little water,
That seemed fine with me.
Getting closer I could hear the buzzing of the flies,
Drowning out the crickets in the fields.
I turned around and saw the rest of the campesinos,
Bending over the pepper plants,
Filling up their wicker baskets,
As fast as they could.
Fifty cents a basket man,
That was real money.
The pepper plants stretched out for miles,
On three sides of the house.
On the north side past the outhouse,
There was a canal, made of cement.
It was an irrigation canal.
Curved pipes would be lowered into it,
Suction applied, and water would flow,
To all the fields for miles around.
Now I was twenty feet from the outhouse,
And the stench was over powering.
I decided to give it a wide berth,
And I went around to the back.
Safe from prying eyes, (there were as many women
Among the campesinos as there were men.)
I quickly got down to business,
Walked to the canal to wash my hands,
And started back.
Atilano was shouting something and waving his hands.
When I was close enough,
'Juanito, el gringo's daughter was watching you,
You got to go. They don't need you anymore.'
'You should have used the outhouse like I told you.'