Bathroom Fears

It's been too long since I last posted here. I've been consumed with kids and another writing project that's kept me from posting on this blog. This morning I found a few spare minutes before I head to a sub job, so I thought I'd break the silence today with a poem I wrote a few weeks ago--it's not great, but it's different from anything I've written before, so I kind of like it.


Bathroom Fears

Every time I use a public restroom

I search closely for the sign--

the one with the silhouette  of a human figure in a dress

to affirm that I am, in fact, headed into the restroom assigned to my gender.

I fear accidentally walking into the wrong restroom

and awkwardly confronting a man when I am expecting a woman.

I fear embarrassment.

And even when firmly planted on the toilet’s seat,

the thought of accidentally squatting in the wrong bathroom

sends me to panic,

so I listen to each foot step

praying to hear the click-clack of high heels on tile.

I strain my ears to hear the sound of a woman's voice--

I have never longed to hear the sound of a woman's voice

like I do in this moment.

I peer under the stalls hoping to catch a glimpse

of a woman's bare ankle

to reassure me that I am in the right restroom.

This sense of fear sends me to a downward spiral

as I question whether or not I remembered to put on deodorant this morning,

and then I think of the stove in my house--I’m sure I left it on

and my house will start on fire swallowing my dog in flames;

I don’t remember shutting the garage door either after leaving for work,

a black masked robber is sure to steal my computer and guitar

and TV, the only valuable possessions I have.

Were my kids wearing underwear to school today? I wonder.

And just when fear has gripped my thoughts I

suddenly remember the absence of urinals in this bathroom

and from behind the locked stall door

I realize my fears, like most of my fears, are irrational.