Just now
at the open mic
when you were playing
I was in the bathroom
pissing.

I’d had a lot of cola earlier
called pop in the part of the country
where you come from
and I had been holding the soda inside me
for quite some time
so when you got onstage
and I left
– for just a minute –
to get my leak on
I thought I’d be back in time
for what I assume
was truly an amazing set
but
as you understand
it was not to be.
My urine stream went on and on
and, apparently, on
and when I got back from the Gents’
you were offstage.

I’m really sorry.
I fully expected to be there
to hear your material
and to support your message
and your vision
and your ability to execute
a few good lines.
I anticipated
the opportunity to enjoy
everything you had to say
but, you know,
bladders wait for no man
woman or
especially
child.
Maybe next time.
Again: sorry.

Uh… no.
I appreciate it
but I don’t think it would be fair
for you to recite the material
for me alone.
I don’t deserve to hear it at all
if I couldn’t hear it the right way.

This must be my punishment.
I’m just going to have to suffer
living in the absence
of your amazing

art.