The Bathroom - Poem by James McLain
It is where she went
yellow bar after bar 2 mg.
'Come Queen Xanadu'
Gallon after gallon of
wines sour breath on the rose
day after day
no after hints.
They all knew and betrayed, withheld.
may as well, built upon bones of ruins,
with the Luke warm water running
unlike her mind
swirling around aft that tub.
Thighs open wide,
then deeply admired as she squats
grunting out each and sometimes it's lost
every other machine gunned word.
While every other hand full
hard fought pulled out
missing the toilet, like
yellow stars shooting past my face
once of trust.
This is her petulant office
as it was once back then.
Trying to understand my wife
too her it's simple a visit.
Lifting her hamper and living beneath
dozens of fat brown/red roaches
dragging egg sacs behind
eating their fill
through the bottom as they all came
like a fast food chain
eating holes in the white cotton
of the most expensive of her panties.
Golden were they those moist crunchy arches.
Until l, one night she came out
with a clear gallon bag
zipped at the top
inside it a baby a boy
being nearly six months pregnant.
I begged, i screamed,
never going to the doctor before nor after.
I march man acted her,
the 'Judge' then did agree.
This was before 'Caroline' was conceived.
was he then dead or moving born and still alive,
Echo's lost I/my screams.
It was nearly her as well.
Doing I did for the next as well.
When are human beings, human beings?
Not until their born or abused and murdered still inside.
Can the court decide.
Science or religion mixed the two.
My mind had to go away to live while my body
stayed behind by that of which was not a dream.
Any way a different judge gave her a restraining order
after she got out,
for some thing they convinced me, I did wrong.
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