poem of the day 02.26.15

bathroom man

i see myself

getting pulled into your web

every time you walk

into the men’s room

i gotta run a stopwatch

like i’m a track coach

to measure how long you’ve been in there

at twenty minutes

i’m supposed to knock on the door

and give you a warning

at thirty i’m supposed to threaten to call the cops

i want you to know

that most nights i give you

forty minutes to an hour

before i even bother

i don’t know what you do in there

and i don’t care

rumor has it you take off all of your clothes

sit there like a rodin sculpture

on the cold, white toilet seat

to each his own, man

i mean we gotta do something

to pass the time here

but it’s when the four year olds

are on the verge of pissing their pants

and their mothers are bitching at me

that’s when i’m forced to care

hey, at least

i don’t go into the bathroom

when you walk out

to smell the damage

i save that detective work for the others here

that are forced to monitor you

i just wish there

was somewhere else that you could go

to get your kicks

a mcdonald’s

a pizza hut

the gas station down the street

maybe try the museum of modern art

and tell their security guards that it’s all

a performance art piece

when they come to kick you out

find anywhere but here

because this act is getting old

and you and i, old chap

we’re hitting the top of the hour again