Fresh Hell

 

I age.
The restroom is up a flight of stairs.
Relieved to see it unoccupied,
I trundle my weight up.
Gasses leak before
I ever reach the door.

I am reminded of old man Charlie.
He too would emit
On the ten yard trip across the room,
The bathroom far too distant
For aged cheeks to fight back
The wayward brew,
Which only a diet rich
In vegetable margarine and sauerkraut
Might engender.
And how will my diet appear
To the next generation
What poor choices of today
Will be paid for
In tomorrow’s intestinal distress?

I make it to the stall without trouble
No emergencies here.
I am still young enough.
I even have time to peer out the window
At the bright sidewalk below.

Just in time to see
Two girls with long legs
Long legs
Legs like herons
Did girls always have legs like that?
Graceful, lean, sun kissed fresh
They talk to one another as they pass
Of girlish things;
unaware of the vulture eye
Two stories above them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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