POEMS


Bogata First Shove

My sweaty palm closes the bathroom door behind me, with hesitance.  Once secure, I place the Pyrex plate on top of the toilet. I’m queasy; Monarch butterflies are migrating from my guts to my brain, Flight of the Bumble Bee mode. I waste no time and strip buck naked. The bathroom is dismal. The faucet is calcified, and the sink is disgusting. There’s a constant dripping of water. Chinese torture style, and believe you me, there aint no little man, floating in a miniature boat making the toilet water blue. I avoid eye contact with the mirror. Three balloons of dope sitting on the shiny glass plate are screaming my name…all I can think of is the tune I was listening to yesterday when Steve and Danny were out…Outlaw Man…who am I anyway, Cain or Able?

     I squat down on my haunches like a canine bitch peeing; the cool bathroom tiles feel good, my body temperature has spiked. I’m a dizzy, flushed and terrified. I haven’t been scared about having anything enter me since I was raped by Cody, he was 35, I was 16… the first time. Damn, I got so many secrets, now another. There’s a trail of ants marching from a crack in the crumbling plaster wall across the floor, they’re streaming to a little metal waste basket. They look purposeful and diligent. Ants are strong. One ant can lift six times its body weight. Right now they make me feel weak…they’re like a little team of fucking Jack LaLannes. The flickering florescent goes out…it’s dark, and I’m so alone.