July 2022
Lynn Norton
lnorton2@kc.rr.com
lnorton2@kc.rr.com
Bio Note: July’s theme is timely in light of our collective emergence from COVID restrictions. Simple freedoms like attending live music and theater have nurtured my withered soul. Levity has been creeping into my poems.
Let It Go
Intermission. Curtains tumble like giant rolls of toilet paper unspooled by mischievous cats. A stampede of distended bladders clamors for exits. Fidgety patrons form lines before overburdened facilities. Faces expressionless but whimpering inside like toddlers sentenced to endless queues at Disneyworld. This is going to be tough! Please, little sphincter, hold your ground. Spare me embarrassing inkblots. You’ve suffered through worse and never failed: Bangkok traffic so stymied that marooned motorists ordered carry-out delivered to their metal islands. Hours belted into airplanes, fused to the tarmac awaiting clearance to ascend into stormy skies. Hang on a little longer! I can see inside! Partitioned stalls apparently occupied as though pranksters left shoes and rumpled pants behind locked doors. As a male, other options come into focus. Rows of open urinals beckon like yawning, porcelain catcher’s mitts awaiting a fast pitch. Scant privacy but offer of sweet relief for pending emergency. Enough! Finally! Time to let it go. Go. Go! NOTHING? Maybe distractions will help. “Sloan Valve Company, Chicago, Illinois, 1.2 gallons per flush.” Pale graffiti defiant of janitorial scouring; YOU SUCK, the license plate of a famous comedian, FI1U12. Listen to surrounding rain, like a chorus of ratcheted lawn-sprinklers ricocheting off windowpanes. Go! Remember fun times, scribing steaming verse into new-fallen snow, fertilizing lichens on mountain peaks with no regard for wind direction, painting miles of stripes on railroad ties through gaping holes serving as toilets in ancient rail coaches. Award worthy marksmanship. Now would be a good time! Doors creak open on partitioned stalls. In unholstered panic, I vault through an opening in one seamless maneuver. Just in time! Blinking lights, chimes prompt swift return to theater. Sated, refreshed, eagerly seeking my seat, doors press against my face. “I’m sorry, sir, you’re not allowed to enter the theater after the performance has begun.” Well, crap!
©2022 Lynn Norton
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL