The men’s room in Tompkins Square Park
has no doors on its stalls.
Really
they’re more like cubicles.

When I was in second grade
I had to go really bad
but the boys’ room
though not in Tompkins Square
had no stalls
so I held it in
until I didn’t
and then had to be excused
to go home
and get cleaned up.

At the time
it seemed somehow
less embarrassing
to shit myself
than to risk the chance
that someone might see my dick
tucked between my legs
as I sat on the toilet.

Was it the vulnerability?
I don’t know
and I don’t know
what I did
vis a vis the toilet
for the next four years
but it doesn’t seem to be a problem anymore.

I’m fine heading to the center of the park
becoming the center of attention
as I center myself on the throne.
Let ’em look.
I gotta poop.

Next time, though,
I may opt
to head to the sidewalk
instead.