A Public Restroom - Poem by Steve Gripp
A hydrosphere of maritime malaise
on the counter; wasted bloody gauze from some
street war - waterlubed faucets.
The funk, the stench, ensconced in mildew around
bricklayered walls. A mechanical prison, temporary and sound.
Do I need to be reminded of my childhood? Shitstains on the
tile - a hygenic atrocity.
Comments about A Public Restroom by Steve Gripp
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Steve Gripp's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye