Taking the Cake
The urinal
cake, that deodorizer
thingy: small, white,
hockey puck-
like, lozenge-like,
lemon Italian ice-
like, deceptively
fragrant in the urinal's
sepsis, ultimately
irresistible
to the three-year-old
that you were
when you reached your hand in
to take it
and put it in your mouth
while I stood next to you,
not seeing you,
because I was looking
blissfully up
at the dropped ceiling,
peeing
the jumbo regular
coffee of the last
rest stop out in torrents,
exhaling contentedly,
feeling good about
life in general
and you and your beautiful
mother waiting in the car
in particular,
not to mention my perfectly
functioning bladder
emptying itself
the way it should,
which always feels
good no matter how
you cut it.
The Untied Stales
of America, my daughter
has written over the map
of the lower forty-eight
a little carelessly,
transposing two letters,
forgetting to cross one t,
the map itself colored in
a little sloppily, dark crayon
spilling in from Canada
and bleeding into Mexico.
And how perfect is that?
Life Drawing-Evan Spears
(erspears.deviantart.com
/ erspears.tumblr.com)
Hair and sinew echoing in these drawings; pretty and insiduous.
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