for tonight's dinner I'm visiting friends from the old neighborhood.

an assorted cheese platter is served as hors d'oeuvres

which is fine with me, and conversation is light,

but tentative with scattered pauses

before awkward changes of subjects are proposed.

 

with an opening in the night's occupation I politely excuse myself.

what’s this?

it’s one of those new toilets

in pastel pink built low to the floor.

the bowl sits a good six inches below my knees.

Impossible to piss in a toilet like this without splattering.

it’s inevitable.

this toilet shows a lack of respect to certain guests.

look.

wallpaper's dotted with pink flamingos, standing

among lily pads in calm water, and my hosts 

live in Seekonk for christ's sake!

small window over the tub, but under
florescence it's very bright in here.
it's a cold, blueish light. it's a harsh, buzzing light.

there should be a cash register sitting behind the sink's counter.

"ten items or less".

daydreaming far above the bowl, I'm wondering
what they might be serving.

it goes like this: when invited, don’t ask.
but from the smell of things it seems they prefer

the old-school Portuguese way of cooking.

christ,–– could be pigs feet.

hold on.
smooth jazz gliding in from the player in the living room.

sounds good.–– Thelonious Monk,

surprising in a bathroom fitted with an inappropriate toddler's toilet!
at least the notorious "no- show" made an after-life appearance for the gig.

gotta make-do without excessive shaking.
maybe utilize a less aggressive vertical wagging technique.
easy on the upswing.

from standing room only I'm enjoying the music.
I'm an invited guest same as Thelonius, and hopefully I'll be free

from the toilet's impossibility before the next track.

Seekonk, Massachusetts