Nebunele.com

One of my roommates is snoring loudly, so I decided that instead of trying to go to bed I’d post this poem I just found in my journal from months ago.

—

Public Restrooms

Walking in, I regard suspiciously
the seat & contents of the bowl.
So many asses.
Such an intimate
exchange of cells, of germs,
of life— here is where we are most private,
here is where we come the most
in contact with our neighbors,
strangers we’ll never speak to.
I carry them into my car on my skin,
smear them into my underwear when I settle
into the driver’s seat.
Drive to the hotel, where I
go to bed
The next room inches
from my head,
close enough to another sleeping stranger
to reach over & caress their hair
if only someone would remove
that flimsy wall between the rooms.

—

I don’t think it’s done. I have to do something radical with lines 6-9. I want the same juxtaposition of private space with public contact, but maybe worded less like a thesis and more like an image. Anybody?