Bathrooms

With sincerest apologies to Langston Hughes

I've known bathrooms:
I've known bathrooms of solace, and of neglect, of every faucet
and every tile, on every roadside, in every dive, I've found
crowded, lonely bathrooms without paper towels.

My life has been saved by bathrooms.

I've squatted in blue water portable toilets,
Washed my hands in Venice Beach with rastafari vets,
Strained to carved glyphs of a lost world in Somerville,
Used Cleveland's bidets, tipped attendants in Vegas,
Stood to read the sports page in Pittsburgh while Marilyn looked on,
naked.

I've run to find them in libraries and graves,
In banks and aquariums, train stations and art museums.
My soul was diminished for the lack of them in malls.
I wandered the desert for a clean place to shit
To find an oasis, the great American restroom, in a minimalistic
shack
Where the sun came through slats by the ceiling.

I've known bathrooms:
Pink-caked, gleaming bathrooms.

My life has been saved by bathrooms.