Ode To A Poo Nugget
Poor, forgotten poo nugget
floating in the handicap disabled really big stall
in the 3rd floor bathroom
why… why are you always left behind?
Why must I swing open the door
and see you floating and bouncing
in the white porcelain bowl?
Are you the guardian of the stall?
Refusing to go to your final resting place?
You guard it well from me, nugget.
For I tell you this:
You are not my poo nugget!
I will not risk sitting on that pot
lest you refuse to go down again
and I, horribly, mistakenly, humiliatingly
am thought to be the leaver of said floater!
Nay, poo nugget, nay!
I will go in stalls one or two instead.
I will giggle to myself when I hear someone else
some unsuspecting coworker
enter the stall.
Beware the poo nugget –
he is small, but mighty.
October 30, 2008
The bathroom at work, a poem.
September 12, 2008
Wednesday
I cried 3 times on Wednesday
isn’t how it usually goes
makes it no less true
Once for me
Once for her
Once for me again
Recounting a story about
17 year old me
Pathetic me. Predicably me.
Funny how 20 years can pass
and still that fucking jab in your belly
is still as vicious and stabbing. Funny how easily I remember
every word
that I would eat whole… or bury in concrete
if I could.
Another story,
probably too personal to share
but share I did, because I have to let it out sometimes
a story about a butterfly
and a little purple blanket and a little flower
a baffled friend
who didn’t know how to stop me from sobbing
in the middle of the cafeteria at work
I always think that I won’t cry when I tell that story
and I always do. I always will.
And again, for me
because, why not?
It’s almost midnight and my thoughts are raw
and my skin vibrates and pulls
a day full of stories
and a night thick with fear
that I’m kidding myself
again.