a poem a day for a year #35

by Amy Turn Sharp

you know the kind of spinny spinny head you can get

when you drink all the beer in the bar

and you sit on the toilet and the music

is a murmur through the wooden door

you read all of the writing on the walls

pens and pens and people

will never stop writing on walls

on doors

on stalls

warnings and wonders and markings

and it seems like you are peeing for America


and the red pen tells you stories

you close one eye and read

the American myths

about how the hood of a Trans Am is big enough

to find all of the secrets

all the whispers

of the town

of the village

of the hopeless place