Except ye know ye must go,
accept ye know not where
St. Muldoon, Apochrypha XX:20
The French, they have a password for it:
faire pipi, cabine, pissoir.
While the Queen of the Hudson just
prints a million signifiers:
REST ROOMS RESERVED FOR CUSTOMERS.
Pity the key fathers afraid
of cabin fever, dope, a screw
Loose in the flower-sprayed stalls, yes
shake the hanky, yes, fear the panky
NY's folly blooms anew.
When Niagara falls confluent.
Not quite fusillade, quit torrent,
SHH-quiet, truant, calling gently
I had to go piss in the gutter
knees bent twixt Yugo and Bentley.
The cop beams me a light flutter
before I could book a flight out.
"me oh my, is it your Johnson
you be waving at me? Let's see
your driver's license, flasher." He
commanded, "it's expired, no doubt."
"Not driving, I'm designated
Pisser, "I quipped, whipping it back in.
"Look, cossack, where's the evidence.
Valjean, down the sewer dirty?"
Have you got a Kodak, snapshot?
No picture of my kisser, yo
No summons, no tickee, blue-shirty."
Thus, I rolled my lies to heaven- "I'm clean,
Mister cop"-and plait my piss wet
Palms together, flashing him salute,
short-stepping a French finger.
Belfast never imploded faster
than what mastered me. "By Saints Caedmon,
Paul, Thomas, James, and Seamus."
His ire soared, landing famous, aimless,
his helping ham slamming me
to the ground, and I found my hands
cuffed to my crack by Kojak.
Transported to cop haven, now.
Facing east, man instamatically
stigmatized, front and side view
Polarized, justice, piss deferred.
Print that. Next time, don't, or flee, like
Copyright © Howard Fisch, 2002. All Rights Reserved.