I once viewed them as religious places

men with their backs to me

infront of urinals

hands clasped together at their crouch

as if in prayer.

Facing their Wailing Wall

reading the graffiti

crytpic messages

crys of urgency, anger, bitter humor--

a standing chant

a prayer for the common man

as the vile within comes out in a steady stream

and then a slow trickle.

 

I love the intimacy of the stall...

I see only the feet

of my fellow congregants

alone with myself

and my maker--

silent meditation...

 

The mirror--

the flourescent

light ,divine and powerful

I confess

my flaws

in full, merciless view

and wash my

self in

 holy

tap water.

* published in Sub-Terrain Magazine