One time, I was walking John to the train stationand on the way back
I had to go to the bathroom real bad.
I was like a block from my place
– half a block –
but I didn’t think I could make it.
The stairs were gonna be a problem.
I don’t even know what I ate
that was making this an issue:
like, what: a pound of bacon?

Anyway, it was the middle of the day,
but it’s an industrial area,
so no one’s paying attention to anyone.
On the corner,
I leaned on the corrugated gate
looked both ways
then a few other ways,
and dropped my shorts
to then let spill.

I had a napkin in my pocket
to wipe with.
It helped a little.

I didn’t look at what I had done.
I stared at cement the rest of the quick march to my door.

As I left my house the rest of the week
I couldn’t help but view what I had wrought
a brown pile upon the corner
until a storm washed away my creation.

It was perhaps the largest footprint
I have left in my neighborhood
in all the years I have lived there.