Thursday, February 26, 2015

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


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