Monday, June 09, 2008

A Sweet Little Poem for Y'all


That drive
Too long
Highway falling
Brown yarn
From the full
Skein. Scream
Into that first
Lot spotted
Red sign
Small sign
“Public Bathrooms.”
Park crooked
Slam the van door
Violent yank
Bent steel handle
Hot from daylight
And too much use.
Look for the lock
Broken knob
But new deadbolt
Gold hope.
Whirl. It sits
The toilet
Soiled in travelers
Finding nothing
For miles. Was
This thing EVER
Clean? Feces
Unflushed, limey base,
Naked cardboard
Tube, but one last
Paper towel.
Maybe if
I hardly touch
It won’t stick
When I stand up.
That tiresome dream:
No toilet
No hole. No
Permanent shed
In the middle
Of a field.
No door no
Tissue no cover
The sun on
Porous plastic
That heat
That meadow
That fear
Someone will see.
That time
In City Hall
The microphones
The watchers
The seaters
At their thrones
Half moon staging
Them flushing
Whatever we have
To say. Where
Do they go
To the bathroom?
Camera rolls
Perspired waste
The stench
Of this place
Please hurry
Disinfect my
Personals. Run
Back to the van.
Thank God
THAT’S over!

Draft 1
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
June 9, 2008
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