When I Go To The Bathroom

An Ode to Routine

When I Go To The Bathroom

I take the crippled stall.
I’m heartless, I know.
It’s just,

I don’t know how long
I’ll be captive to the throne.
It may be minutes, hours.
Days.
19 years experience
teach you much about
estimates and allotted time,
but, somehow, blunders persist.
I’m trying to
minimize my margin
of error, to predict my
intestinal proficiency.

But these efforts
bare paltry fruit,
and so

I play it safe.
In case of emergency,
I’ll need freedom to dream.
Standard stalls simply
won’t do. My creations need
                                                                                                                        space.
Space the crippled stall has.
Because crippled people
dream more,
bigger?
No.
It’s for the chair,
Obviously.

I was crippled
once. Nine years old
and cocky, best slide
rider in the world. So
fast. So furious. At recess,
I’d show off. A broken leg
and a fury of numberless
tears later, and my life was
dramatically transformed
For a little less than a month.

The crippled stall welcomes me
every time. It is comforting, like my
mother (who is not crippled).
Once, actuality attacked;
a pair of wheels,
gray and worn
rubber, approached the hospital-
tan stall. Desperate for relief, but
Cautious. Hesitant.
[Pause]
Hello?[1]
Panic.

I am not crippled.
I never have been crippled.
I hope never to be crippled.
But oh, their taste in stalls!

 

 

 

1(the cripple, to me, a fraud).

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5 responses to “When I Go To The Bathroom

  1. This was nuts, I loved it!

  2. Thanks, Rouillie! Appreciate it.

  3. Eric Marturano

    Hahaha well done man

  4. Made me laugh, esp the last line.

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