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"I Lock the Door," by Kisha Sanders

i lock the door to the stall, fight with the buttons on my jeans, and sit down to pee yeah so the image is a little crude, but im in a bathroom, what else is there to do---don't answer that i stare at the green door in front of me regretting the three cups of coffee id had since my last trip to the `girls room' the words scribbled there not the usual bathroom graffiti scrawled by bored vandal teens although thats there too but this is poetry and its decent okay its actually good and scribbled beneath a note that ashley died, the 15 yearold that we all knew from rocky nights its sad the rumors are that he died huffing but i try not to think about that as the toilet flushes old plumbing i wash my hands and resign myself to leaving four hours of sitting staring at blank pages and swallowing bitterness is more than enough i gather my things from my table say goodbye to the regulars, the ones who are always here playing chess talking always welcoming i begin to think about the piece im trying to write the radio in alice the achieva scares me as i drive maudlin love songs and pseudo teen angst i should just wait until the characters talk to me but at this rate ill never get past the image in my head its you the way you bite your lip always the little girl never quite sure of your next words and so afraid to offend i miss the way you constantly apologize under your breath for things you havent done my car is a traitor its crossed bridge to indiana and taken turns i dont remember its moving too fast but i always drive like this im not invincible but i trust my luck and the lack of cops with radars in this country the sunsets beautiful and i tuck it away in to the part of my brain where things go to get lost when i can finally write them down on paper i wonder how many stories ive almost written that way how many poems ive lost but that thought depresses me and i turn up proud mary on the radio to sing along