A Poem of Sorts
Written at work (they always are)
Work Bathrooms
Automatic sensors you baffle me
Flushing while I’m still sitting
How could you miss me?
Yet refusing to give me water
Needed to wash my soapy hands
At least the hot air dryer gives love
In little gusts of warmth
Saturday, July 31st 2010 at 1:07 AM |
I like this one.