At public urinals, the modern apes
Uncongregate. They're cordoned off from one
Another, fronts against the wall, escape
Blocked off by blind spots. "Keep on keeping on"
Tradition says, but fight-or-flight is built
Into the chrome, reflecting mutant men
Behind us. You can feel the crowd, the guilt
Of "I should say good morning." Then again,
We're pissers here, and every man's a planet
Tossed retrograde in haystacks: scattered rock
Upheld by gravity. I join this granite
Electorate for #1, and block
Adjoining stalls. I need my space. I'm losing
It. Do not turn around. There is no choosing.
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