a holiday party poem

Something at the holiday party didn’t agree with your stomach.

Maybe, it was the store bought cheese dip in the fondue pot, or

Costco Swedish meatballs boiling in a bottle barbeque sauce or

The fancy triangles of deli chicken salad on crustless white bread.

Whatever it was, now you find yourself waiting in line to

Use the restroom in the hallway under the stairs.

You shut the door and almost gag on the smell of fake roses.

Inside is like thousands of other suburban half baths.

A white porcelain toilet and pedestal sink,

Extra roll of toilet paper dressed in a knit Santa passed down from grandma,

On the wall is a original painting of a cat playing with yarn

That someone created at the sip & paint workshop.

The offending artist’s spouse wouldn’t let them hang it on their wall

So they gifted it to the host.

You contract your sphincter muscle, pinch a loaf of holiday cheer,

Think the painting would look better on the dining room wall and

Wish you had some wet wipes,

But dry paper will have to do.

You turn the sink faucet on full so whoever is waiting in line

Is fooled into believing you properly washed your hands,

Take a deep breath before you spray floral air freshener and

Delude yourself that no one will know you took a dump,

Brush past the next person in line without looking them in the eye and

exhale only when you hear the bathroom lock go click.

11-16-22