Poem of a Pot - A Poem

I'm sitting on the toilet, the phone starts to ring
My brother's watching TV, in the front room sitting
Ring, ring, it continues on in waves

We're waiting for important calls; nature does too
I wipe up fast as I can and run out of the loo
I grab the receiver, it's my mom with advice

My shoe-clad ankles are holding up my pants
My belly screams and does its 'gotta go' dance
I finish the call, hang up, and run, relieved

Relief on the pot, frustration on the phone
Sometimes that's all I get when I'm home alone
And no, my brother doesn't count at all.