Conversation In A Walmart Urinal

[jon1jt]

The men’s room,
a mournful camaraderie of sh*t & death.
The Roman bath, the Acropolis, even Delphi must have had
some p*ss hole for its patrons to relieve themselves.
It's the only place left to go
where people don’t expect anything from anyone---
where small talk remains small,
going no farther than the bathroom sinks.

At the Walmart Superstore I’m waiting my turn.
1.2.3.4, I’m #4 in line
not counting the kid with the dad,
the dad who's looking real happy and
so's the
12-year old rambling on about how many pullups he can do,
pointing to the metal rail above the stall door---
some big black guy comes out says
How many can you do, kid?
16! 16! And we all chuckle, and the kid starts climbing the door
wildly while I start thinking how I
couldn’t do nearly that many at his age.

Dad sent the kid off into the stall
and stepped out of line, and that was good,
while ahead of me stood a short guy,
what seemed a whole human trunk pressed up into the urinal,
taking forever.
He finally looked down and fixed himself,
stepped out cleanly, and I stepped in.
It didn’t flush
the voice says to my left.
I look down and it‘s true, it didn‘t flush,
so I searched for a lever but there
wasn’t any.
They don’t let us flush them anymore.
Only a square black box fixed to a single chrome pipe
disappearing into the wall.
Motion sensor malfunct. That’s
what he said.
And you should have seen last week at the Barnes & Noble,
there was some guy going in the stall while
eating a falafel sandwich,
with store books laying up on the urinal. The prick.

The man zipped his pants and so did I, and we washed and
air dried
and left our essence at the door,
he disappearing around some crowded corner and
I where I went,
still thinking about that man with
the sandwich and books,
about cholera in Zimbabwe,
malaria in South Africa…
the ceaseless bombs dropping over Palestine.
The world drowning in its own piss and sh*t.

[Silas Thorne]

I loved it. You've brought us in there, to the Walmart urinals. Honest and real, with no messing around.

The lines 'It didn't flush' and 'air dried' come across to me as profound statements within the poem, then I'm smashed with the cold hard baseball bat of reality. Its almost as if I was having a debate with my a friend, after having way too many beers, and suddenly thought I understood some principle of the way the world worked, and then I realised I was talking ****.

:)

Respect,
Silas

[jon1jt]

I loved it. You've brought us in there, to the Walmart urinals. Honest and real, with no messing around.

The lines 'It didn't flush' and 'air dried' come across to me as profound statements within the poem, then I'm smashed with the cold hard baseball bat of reality. Its almost as if I was having a debate with my a friend, after having way too many beers, and suddenly thought I understood some principle of the way the world worked, and then I realised I was talking ****.

:)

Respect,
Silas


Hey Silas, really happy you digged it. Liked what you had to say. Thanks 4 readin. ;)

[qimissung]

"...and left our essence at the door." My favorite line. You took us into the inner sanctum, as it were, and then brought it round to the state of the world...not a mean feat.

[motherhubbard]

I think that if I were a man I would just Pee outside. The world is your urinal!

Happy New year, Jon.

[Delta40]

I wanna write about our women's stinky loo's now! That was so great! I felt like I was there witnessing the cursory shakes and all!

Well done. Thanks for the experience.

[blp]

Really? It's all big talk everywhere else in your world? Lucky you. Small talk remains small all over in mine, big talk being the exception to the rule.

Malaria in South Africa? I thought AIDS was the big problem there. Did I miss something?

I like this a lot, but, except for the poetic beginning, the line breaks are really getting in the way for me. It's very prosy, and that's not a bad thing, just not sure it's found its form.

[TheFifthElement]

Yeah, I still like it. It does read a bit prosy, as blp already said, which could easily be edited away, though I daren't ask you to edit 'cos I wouldn't want to interfere with your naturalistic principles oh Mr Caretaker Man ;)

But I did enjoy the stream of consciousness thinking (well, stream of something...) and the way it moves from the close, the familiar, to thoughts of elsewhere. The way we go through life thinking in our small space while horrible things are going on around us. And I think that's a nice touch, that we can be anywhere doing anything and these things they still affect us. Plus it piques my fascination with men's toilets. You've opened my eyes to what really goes on in there. Falafal sandwiches? You mean pie, right? No man worth his salt would be seen in a Northern English town, let alone in the toilets, eating a falafal sandwich. I guess things really are different in other parts of the world :p

[Janine]

jon1jt, that was really well done! I must admit it may not be my favorite subject but I certainly can relate. I have a bladder disease and unfortunately, have to experience and subject myself to too many 'icky' public restrooms, so I do know the score, right down the flushing senors not working. Actually, this is tame, comparied to some of the filthy bathroom nightmares, I have had in the past....and I am talking about real sleeping dreams; although, there have been some incredibly horrid daytime experiences, I would term nightmares. I would rather not talk about those.

I agree with motherhubbard - I would pee in the woods as opposed to some of those gross bathrooms, if I was a man! I actually have gotten to that point, when in remote areas of travel and have no qualms about it; way better than some of those terrible rest rooms.

Ellen Degeneris does a great skit on public restrooms. She will have you rolling on the floor with laughter.

[jon1jt]

Yeah, I still like it. It does read a bit prosy, as blp already said,

Do you refer to a banana as a yellow banana? Or how's about a fire engine? Oh, you say, there it goes, blp, a red roaring fire engine! O human.

What is this, you say...prose poetry?? You wrote,

It does...

read

a

bit prosy...

Decoded:

It doesn't read like
a
poem.


What, then, is the criteria for a prose poem... one topic sentence, two? The use of periods and dialogue??? I mean, when exactly does it cross over from a poem to a prose poem?

Now I'm going to go and eat a falafel sandwich; meanwhile, maybe you and blp, or somebody here can help me figure out what a prose poem is because I don't believe you. brb. yum.

[blp]

Do you refer to a banana as a yellow banana? Or how's about a fire engine? Oh, you say, there it goes, blp, a red roaring fire engine! O human.

What is this, you say...prose poetry?? You wrote,

It does...

read

a

bit prosy...

Decoded:

It doesn't read like
a
poem.


What, then, is the criteria for a prose poem... one topic sentence, two? The use of periods and dialogue??? I mean, when exactly does it cross over from a poem to a prose poem?

Now I'm going to go and eat a falafel sandwich; meanwhile, maybe you and blp, or somebody here can help me figure out what a prose poem is because I don't believe you. brb. yum.

Weird. I had falafel today too.

You're the only one who said 'prose poem'. Well, since you asked, a prose poem is a poem without line breaks. Honestly, it's not that hard to understand. ;)

[Virgil]

I'm sorry Jon, I don't think this is one of your better efforts. This is bascally some anecdote with little dirty words and frankly pretty dull language. Just look at the openning:

The men’s room,
a mournful camaraderie of s*it & death.
The Roman bath, the Acropolis, even Delphi must have had
some p*ss hole for its patrons to relieve themselves
Mournful comraderie? Roman bath?


At the Walmart Superstore I’m waiting my turn.
1.2.3.4, I’m #4 in line
not counting the kid with the dad,
the dad who's looking real happy and
so's the
12-year old rambling on about how many pullups he can do,
pointing to the metal rail above the stall door---
some big black guy comes out says
How many can you do, kid?
16! 16! And we all chuckle, and the kid starts climbing the door
wildly while I start thinking how I
couldn’t do nearly that many at his age.
Can you show me one poetic line in any of that? This is poetry?

And so I'm asking myself, what's this little third grade anecdote supposed to all imply, and we get this:

The man zipped his pants and so did I, and we washed and
air dried
and left our essence at the door,
he disappearing around some crowded corner and
I where I went,
still thinking about that man with
the sandwich and books,
about cholera in Zimbabwe,
malaria in South Africa…
the ceaseless bombs dropping over Palestine.
The world drowning in its own piss and sh*t.

So that's the analogy? That some dirty bathroom anectdote is smybolic for cholera in Africa and bombs in Palistine? Really, how inane.

Sorry if Im tough on this. This poem is not you. You're best at strawberry sunrises and sailng into the sunset with some chick. ;)

[Silas Thorne]

Maybe one man's poetry is another man's poison.

[beatnic]

I really enjoyed this. I especially enjoyed your visual descriptions and use of dialogue.

[JacobF]

When I'm in the bathroom, I usually don't see kids doing pull-ups and strangers cheering them on. Even if it's a crowded foot ball game where people are drunk, mens bathrooms are a place of inhibition. You said it yourself: "small talk remains small." That whole situation seemed forced to me.

The last paragraph killed the mood. Seemed like you were trying to insert some grand message just for the sake of it.

The poem in general was creative, I thought. Just a few things in it hit me over the head too hard.

[Riesa]

I seriously have a hard time believing that there is an actual LINE at the men's bathroom.

[TheFifthElement]

Ouch, your words make my mouth ache ;)


Do you refer to a banana as a yellow banana? Or how's about a fire engine? Oh, you say, there it goes, blp, a red roaring fire engine! O human.


Not exactly. Take your banana example. Instead of saying banana say: fruit. Instead of saying yellow banana say: banana. Instead of saying fire engine say: vehicle. Instead of saying red fire engine say: fire engine.

There's your difference.

I'd say your piece was poetry because it has rhythm, cadence.

I'd say your piece was prose poetry because of this:

The men’s room, a mournful camaraderie of s*it & death. The Roman bath, the Acropolis, even Delphi must have had some p*ss hole for its patrons to relieve themselves. It's the only place left to go where people don’t expect anything from anyone---where small talk remains small, going no farther than the bathroom sinks.

At the Walmart Superstore I’m waiting my turn. 1.2.3.4, I’m #4 in line not counting the kid with the dad, the dad who's looking real happy and so's the 12-year old rambling on about how many pullups he can do, pointing to the metal rail above the stall door--- some big black guy comes out says How many can you do, kid? 16! 16! And we all chuckle, and the kid starts climbing the door wildly while I start thinking how I couldn’t do nearly that many at his age.

Dad sent the kid off into the stall and stepped out of line, and that was good, while ahead of me stood a short guy, what seemed a whole human trunk pressed up into the urinal, taking forever. He finally looked down and fixed himself, stepped out cleanly, and I stepped in. It didn’t flush the voice says to my left. I look down and it‘s true, it didn‘t flush, so I searched for a lever but there wasn’t any. They don’t let us flush them anymore. Only a square black box fixed to a single chrome pipe disappearing into the wall. Motion sensor malfunct. That’s what he said. And you should have seen last week at the Barnes & Noble, there was some guy going in the stall while eating a falafel sandwich, with store books laying up on the urinal. The prick.

The man zipped his pants and so did I, and we washed and air dried and left our essence at the door, he disappearing around some crowded corner and I where I went, still thinking about that man with the sandwich and books, about cholera in Zimbabwe, malaria in South Africa… the ceaseless bombs dropping over Palestine. The world drowning in its own piss and sh*t.

[Delta40]

Tell me, what is cadence?

[TheFifthElement]

Tell me, what is cadence?

Cadence: rhythmic flow of a sequence of sounds or words: the cadence of language.

Language that flows with rhythm, often referred to as 'lilting' that goes beyond just rhythm to incorporate the sound of the words, the tone. Musical.

[Delta40]

Ah. I use the term 'lilting' for example when referring the wonderful tones and musical quality of my mother's scottish accent when she speaks. Is that an example?

[TheFifthElement]

Ah. I use the term 'lilting' for example when referring the wonderful tones and musical quality of my mother's scottish accent when she speaks. Is that an example?

Yes, definitely :D

[Delta40]

I'm trying to understand cadence in poetry. when I read poetry sometimes I notice it has an easy rhythmic flow. It doesn't necessarily have to involve rhyme but it could be best described as say a river with it's own natural current. But poetry would have cadence if there was a sequence of rocky ascent followed by a tumult of flow, for example?

[blp]

Do you refer to a banana as a yellow banana? Or how's about a fire engine? Oh, you say, there it goes, blp, a red roaring fire engine! O human.


I missed this before. I don't say any of the above, particularly to myself, but it was you who referred to a 'dancer of dances'.

I agree with 5th. I think the thing has rhythm, but the line breaks have nothing to do with it. They even seem to interfere with the rhythm. Whether the thing's a poem I don't know or care, but it reads better in 5th's Ockham's razor applied version.

[jon1jt]

I agree with 5th. I think the thing has rhythm, but the line breaks have nothing to do with it. They even seem to interfere with the rhythm.

The line breaks have a whole helluva lot to do with it.


...but it reads better in 5th's Ockham's razor applied version.

I'll go read her version of my poem, sure, with an eye on rhythm too. And anybody else interested in FifthElement's version of my poem, check out post#17 above. Let me know what you think.


Malaria in South Africa? I thought AIDS was the big problem there. Did I miss something?

There's enough AIDS awareness in the world, man. I'm talking malaria, cholera, dysentery, and yet this is the f***k**g 21st Century, that's what I'm talking about.



Virge: Just when I thought you weren't going to show, there you are. Oh you go ahead and be tough, right on. Thanks for feedback, my brother.

I think motherhubbard is on to something when she says, the world is my toilet. :p


---
Thanks for feedback everybody!

Write on!

[MattG]

I thought the whole thing was quite poetic and insightful.

You've managed to take a rather verboten subject and turn it into something surprisingly interesting.

I'd say well deserved kudos are in order here.

Kudos!!

[jon1jt]

I thought the whole thing was quite poetic and insightful.

You've managed to take a rather verboten subject and turn it into something surprisingly interesting.

I'd say well deserved kudos are in order here.

Kudos!!


Some of the others don't believe us, Matt---they hang strawberries from their porches in effigy, and one reader so brazen he called my poem Bukowski trash. But I really like what you have to say here.



I seriously have a hard time believing that there is an actual LINE at the men's bathroom.

Of course, women are not the only ones who have to pee. Sometimes we don't want to come out; we fold the toilet seats down and play big hands of poker while our ladies standing outside the door wait for us for a change. :p

[blp]

and one reader so brazen he called my poem Bukowski trash.

Who said that? No on in this thread.

[jon1jt]

Who said that? No on in this thread.


You're right, it was unca Virge. But go look quick what I wrote in response in his blog before he deletes it. :lol:

UPDATE!!!! FOR BLP
After just 1 minute and 3 seconds Virge deleted my response to his post. Now why is that? Lucky thing I saved it. Oh pooh looks like I'll have to post it into my blog. I mean, only fair I get to respond to his Bukowski-comparison, right?

Blp: Should I ask for Virge's permission first before posting my response that he deleted?

[Virgil]

I didn't call it Bukowski trash. :lol: I said second rate Bukowski, and that even first rate Bukowski wasn't very good. If you want to interpret that as Bukowski trash, feel free. The distinction is probably small. :D

[blp]

Blp: Should I ask for Virge's permission first before posting my response that he deleted?

:lol:

Heck no. They're your words.

Darn, I should have laid money on this.

EDIT
Has Virgil deleted the whole thing? I can't find anything about any of this in his blog.

[jon1jt]

Virge, do i have your permission to post my response to your Bukowski slight?

[jon1jt]

:lol:

Heck no. They're your words.

Darn, I should have laid money on this.


Good point, blp---it's like I'm begging for bread over here to get his approval. I'm just trying to preempt an infraction. Actually, it's just about farting. I would argue it's almost a poem. :D

Had you laid money on that you'd be a rich man, yessiree.

[blp]

I edited my last post, but it probably got lost in the shuffle. Where's Virgil's Bukowski comment? Has he deleted that too? Couldn't find anything in his blog.

[Virgil]

Virge, do i have your permission to post my response to your Bukowski slight?

Of course. Besides it was your words. People on lit net know how I feel about Bukowski. We've gone through this before.

I don't delete comments. It was in Jon's profile page.

[jon1jt]

I edited my last post, but it probably got lost in the shuffle. Where's Virgil's Bukowski comment? Has he deleted that too? Couldn't find anything in his blog.

Yeah he's like the CIA he covered up everything.

He said that my poem was uncreative and that as far as bukowski fans went, they didn't realize they were reading crap. And that anything can have a reaction. He used farting as an example. See my new poem for response. :lol:

[jon1jt]

Of course. Besides it was your words. People on lit net know how I feel about Bukowski. We've gone through this before.

I don't delete comments. It was in Jon's profile page.

What do you mean?? when you saw my post to your response you signed on faster than the virgin mother got pregnant and deleted it!

Anyway, I made it into a 2nd rate bukowski poem.

[jon1jt]

I didn't call it Bukowski trash. :lol: I said second rate Bukowski, and that even first rate Bukowski wasn't very good. If you want to interpret that as Bukowski trash, feel free. The distinction is probably small. :D

:lol::lol:This is such a slap in my face and yet it's funny as hell I love it!!!! You're the best, my brother!

[SleepyWitch]

I liked it alright, but I agree with blp and the others about the prose-iness/ prosiness? (sp? you know what I mean) :)

[jon1jt]

I liked it alright, but I agree with blp and the others about the prose-iness/ prosiness? (sp? you know what I mean) :)

Hey sleeps thanks for stopping by. Can you elaborate a bit as to what you mean about the proseyness? I think blp said it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and Virge called it Bukowski trash.

(btw I don't know how to spell proseEness either :p)