I tried really,
really hard to be cool
that day in the public restroom.

I flipped up my collar
and slipped on Tom’s
blue aviator sunglasses.

I tore my shoelaces out
and fluffed up the tongues.

I stood in the blue tiled cavern
and cranked my voice down
about two octaves.

I stuffed a sock down my
tight Guess jeans.

I wrote KILLER
in sharpie on my brown wallet
made of tight leather.

I watched myself in the mirror
for a good twenty minutes
strutting back and forth,
stopping only to sneer,
smile wanly, or smirk.

When the toilet flushed behind me
for some odd reason
I suddenly knew I was in the women’s bathroom,
and ran for the door like a girl.


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