The World’s Toilet
Poem on reality

I was standing in awe over the terrific massacre of my life —
the broken family, failed relationships, financial shortcomings,
the wrong degrees, master of arts in a world of hustling,
the wrong temperament, INFP in an ESTJ world.
They stick us compassionate creative types with MAs in customer service jobs
to be the great Toilet for the world’s hairy ass to sit on and do its business in.
Try to remember to flush next time, as we actually have lives and dreams of our own
outside of your small turd tribulations and great diarrhea demands.
Try to inhibit your instinct to think yours is the only ass in the crapping stall
in the world’s big bathroom where a thousand more asses wait in line to do their business.
All this I ruminated on while I surveyed the awesome massacre of my life
over a small cup of coffee while I sat and watched
two crows fight over a piece of bread, and the neighboring table,
dressed to the nines in suits, laughed, as they discussed
which country they were planning to holiday in next.
© Carlo Zeno 2022
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Thanks for reading this small slice of the great disaster of my life, and thanks to Franco Amati for continuing to pin my questionable poetry on his wall. You can tip here, or take a chance with two more suspect pieces below.
