Pissing Poetry

she writes poetry like you and i take a piss
and what’s more
she’s not toilet-trained, she’ll do it anywhere

oh my gosh i feel a poem coming on
she says and we respond by running
and hiding we know from experience
that poems are messy things
words are splattered on walls
and innocent passers-by
silimes are plastered to her forehead
metaphors are mixed and scrambled
like eggs and sometimes so runny
that kethcup is the only salvation
alliteration drips from her chin

when you are brave enough to peek out
from your place of safety
you are reminded of a big dog
on a hot summer’s day

and then the poem is finished
she falls tired to the ground
we slowly unhide ourselves
afraid to reveal too much

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