Sometimes the design of an object
Is best left to those
Who will put it to use.
A woman would never choose
Anything so shameful.
Into the darkness
Behind lids that must be lifted up
And then shut again so no one can see
Because no one wants to be greeted
By another person’s insides.
We tidy each other’s bathroom experience.
Take a piece of toilet paper to ease up the top and
Use the other hand to drop or throw away
Our essence, as though we, ourselves,
They aren’t the place for broken hair ties or
Q-tips or tissues from runny noses–
In those reliquaries
Lie our deepest aspects of being.
DNA samples and disease. Think of
All the monsters Science could make
If He raided a restroom–
And even knowing this
I believe in Science
The way an agnostic believes in God–
Something’s there, He exists…
Sometime’s He sucks and
Other times He’s nice but
I don’t really care to know more.
Instead of seeing experiments in the trash
Look past the long words and nasty germs.
Turn your attention to the spirit side
As I will tonight.
Hands red with myself I will dig into the earth
Make a home for that thing not spoken of
When we need one we ask softly
So the men don’t get afraid or laugh
And we’re back to sixth grade
With penis and vagina.
Not now. I’ll bleed loud and let it be known
I prefer o.b. Pro-comfort fit and
If it’s dirty and gross and unclean to the world
I will give it to those who will smile
On the offering.