THE WORST SHIT OF MY LIFE

i was wastey-faced
and walking to a bus
from the light rail
the bus was pulling up
right when i got there
but i knew i couldn’t get on
because out of nowhere
i urgently needed to take a shit

i knew it wasn’t going to be
one of those formal shits
where everything goes smoothly
you flush
you wash your hands
and you move on with your life

i had the civil war
muskets and torches
in the swamps of alabama
raging inside of me

this was urgent
all of a sudden
nothing else mattered

i swear to god
if anyone came between me
and the nearest toilet
i would have snapped their neck
like it was nothing

luckily
across the parking lot
there was a coffee shop
i b-lined through the cars
and rampaged to the door
closed.

it was cold outside
i wasn’t dressed warm enough
and a demon child
was clawing around my bowels

i found a hair salon
that was still open
but it was empty
and all i could imagine
was my garbage disposal magnum opus
echoing through the clinical corridors
of the empty building

across the way
like a shining beacon of hope
ned kelly’s
a hole-in-the-wall irish pub
i ran over

(and by “ran”
i mean that awkward
clenched-ass
power walk nonsense
beads of sweat
freezing to my face.)
i scurried in.

i was met by a bartender
and a bar full of people
every stool filled
as i ran by
my eyes averted
the bartender said to me
“hey—
the bathroom is for
customers only!”

i paid him no regard
i had no regard to give him
i bolted into the stall
oblivious to everything around me

the stall was 110 degrees hot
it was just a toilet and walls
there wasn’t even a sink
just a soap dispenser on the wall
outside of the bathroom stall
i heard someone performing
nickelback karaoke
in the key of gutteral noises

as soon as i sat down
my pants were around my ankles
and hallelujah holy hell
that was a good moment
and as my life flashed
before my bloodshot tired eyes
there was the sound of footsteps
outside of the bathroom stall
heavy, like a bear’s drunken groans
being muttered on the other side
of the stall
as nickelback played on

there was a hole in the door
and the ogre on the other side
peaked his devil’s eye through it
and began shaking at the door
i swear the whole stall shook with it
the moans and the groans continues
as i was reborn of the toilet

when i’d finished my business
i utilized a metric ton
of toilet paper
to try and clean up
the murder scene
i lifted my pants
and promptly exited
the bar.

the end.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

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