Walking On

I've been walking for a while,
Through nights as dark as death.
And while the moments melt to miles,
My mind replays the steps.

And each step upon the other sits,
Like black and white piano keys-
Different shapes I've made to fit-
Now distant memories.

And thinking back I hum a tune
Played thoughtfully to time.
Hopeful now that someday soon
I may walk on in rhyme.

No Mercy

The men's restroom, in all of it's awkward candor, is perhaps one of the most uncomfortable places on earth. It's either empty or packed, and by empty, I mean that there's one other guy in there and he's got asthma and diarrhea...

When the house is packed, everybody grumbles and groans, but nobody says a word, and the occasional fart slips out without emphasis or blame placed. When it's empty, though- things become dangerous.

The other night I find myself shopping at the grocery store, and because I've been drinking excessive amounts of water, I slip away to the bathroom. Grocery store bathrooms are always hidden away in that cluttered warehouse area, where they keep the brooms and mops and employee of the month placards. Well, this particular one happens to be empty, and again, by empty, I mean there’s one other guy in there.

I see his feet under the stall door, and a sly smile drips onto my face. I know what he's going through, and it feels good to finally find myself on the other side of that rickety door.

I walk to the urinal, and pause for a moment to listen. He's holding his breath. My smile grows as the seconds tick by on his watch (Yeah, I can hear it. Now, that’s awkward). He's dying inside the stall; I can tell. His shoes shuffle around on the floor, and his breathing finally lets out. I theorize that he’s trying to ease something out gracefully, horrified at the possibility of a violent eruption.

Having decided that he's suffered enough, I reach for the door and as my hand touches the knob he gives up the fight. A symphony of stinky splats, claps and growls tumble from the stall and my smile stretches to impossible lengths. I open the door and quickly shuffle to a safe distance for some much needed laughter.

Thinking about it now, it doesn't make much sense that diarrhea in a public restroom should be a laughing matter. If somebody threw up on the street, they'd probably get a back rub, some kind words and a ride home. But if some guy gets diarrhea at the grocery store, he knows the world is at his doorstep. It's just not right.

But, these are the times we're living in, and knowing that push comes to shove, I'll take my laughs when I can get them, because someday I'll be inside that stall, again, working hard, paying my dues.