In the library
I think about my bag as a bomb
Someone eyeing it
Outside the bathroom door
Style: Messenger
Make: Land's End
Toilet seat: where my End Lands
But not in a single occupancy WC
Here I let it hang above
Hunched like an animal
Or a downhill skier
Crossing the street
I realize
I can never tell
If those childhood drink containers
The ones with the foil tops
Are meant to resemble barrels or grenades
I had always thought of them
As flavor grenades
Syrupy
Unnaturally colored
Throat burning
Flavor bombs
I would have never thought them to be
Barrels
And why would I?
As a child
I might have never taken a crap
In a library
Since I was bashful
But now
I drop bombs
Outside the door
In all the isles
And inside my private resting place
Someone knocked on the door
I said, "in a minute"
Like I was a star
In a dressing room
Being given "five"
As opposed to the five
You might give a friend
A high five
Fingers making contact
Four or five at a time
My friend the grenade
My friend the toilet paper
This is the second time
I have been to the library this week
And both times
I have left gifts
Maybe it's my special place
Maybe it's a drop zone
Last time I noticed a bag left outside the front doors
I alerted the bald man
Whose voice was connected
To my five minute call
The short-sleeved
Beige shirt, brown tie type
You can never be too careful these days
People are dropping bombs
--
5.21.08
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