My bladder throbs.
It throbs, bellows, burns,
groaning whispers. Whispers
Three cups of green tea, sloshing
But there you sit, winking hair
and curly eyes. So damn engaging.
Mid-story, you make me laugh
and we are at a crisis.
Now or never or puddle.
I stand to navigate little
round tables. Gravity grasps
at liquid weight. Past the first
door, into the next, on the left.
I'm inside. Is this right?
Pinkish walls. Photograph of a
child tongue-catching rain drops--
Ah, I see the raised toilet seat.
I stand relieved at the raised toilet