At last, in a gift shop, a restroom
with a toilet that wasn’t overflowing
with someone else’s crap.
But the lock in the stall didn’t work,
and while I was sitting there,
a little girl came in.
Right behind her, a teacher:
commanding woman,
skin not the color of mine.
I leave this one unlocked,
she said, regal,
so I can go through to help the children.
In the gift shop I selected perfume,
checked out the bright silk scarves.
A man I thought I knew from somewhere
hovered in the background, impatient.
I told him to go to hell.

There had been so many toilets before,
in so many dreams, always filthy and full.
So many nights I rounded up lost kids,
struggled up steep stairs.
Always I had to pee.
No one ever seemed to care.
But now, at last, in this dream at least
I’m there:  at last, in this dream
there is a tidy place for me.


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