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Array
(
[sid] => 174865
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Restless in the Restroom
[time] => 2013-01-20 21:33:30
[hometext] => Ode to a New York Subway bathroom - 1983
[bodytext] => So I said to myself as I perched on the pot; What shall we do with this time we have got? Conjure up faces from streaks in the flooring? It’s really no accident bathrooms are boring… Why they could go bankrupt in tissue alone; If they added a TV or pay telephone! There’s not much to do while your forehead gets beady; But wonder who wrote all that nasty graffiti. I pity the authors of eight lines of rhyme; Imagining why they had all of that time! By the damp of my palms from this 2 minute stay; They must have dehydrated carving away! I’ve visions of Hitchcock and intrigue and spies! (the bathroom is always the drop for those guys!) I’m soberly blowing my tukas a kiss; And feeling around for the microfisch… Why does the ceiling say “Viva Chicanos”? What happens to those who won’t lave their manos? Just when I’m certain I’ll die from the heat; In come six more souls; (or rather, 12 feet). Two sandals, some sneakers, and black high heeled shoes; “We’re all equal here” is the mantra I choose! For this is one game where we love what we lack; (Witnessed by Kohler and Crown- Zellerbach) We take not, and want not, it’s all about giving! (with a bow to the hen who does this for a living!) I think I’ll survive, if we keep this discreet; Besides, I am almost asleep as my feet. As I exit victorious, black high heels darts in; I’m humble; I flash her a piteous grin. Cause whoever said that pride leads to a fall; Certainly coined it inside of a stall! 1983 [comments] => 3 [counter] => 100 [topic] => 7 [informant] => softerware [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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