Cubicle wisdom

Sandrinie Rodrigo
Contributor
I shuffle into the alcove,
stepping on dry tiles alone.
my eyes sting with the
salt of mental sore.
the seat cools my thigh
and words heat my mind;
crawling across the door
like hair gone astray.
I read the first ray.
I’m locked inside,
it crookedly bays.
just let it slide,
another invades.
what you need to do,
begins a fourth line,
to stop the leak
—this one has no rhyme—
is to let it out
the right way.
I wipe myself clean
and continue to read,
fixing my skirt
across my pale knee.
don’t hold it in.
Alice + Eric = a win.
check your rear
view mirror for blocks
before you begin.
Justin Bieber was here.
Justin Bieber is so wrong.
J.B. read that.
don’t close the lid, moron.
do what you will.
no one can see you
except yourself.
screw Dr. Phil.
the overflowing message
was one of release.
unseen burdens are not too
different from flushables,
and equally flushable.
to stop the leak, let it out
the right way.
I take out my Sharpie
and copy the mode.
thank you, I write.
for relieving my load.