"This bathroom is really a spy room" and "Firetrucking Brickhead" by Jason Melvin

This bathroom is really a spy room

As I shut the door, it’s evident. I can hear the entire bar, every conversation. A cacophony of clinked silverware on plates, glasses toasted, and a myriad of voices. I hear my wife express concern at my aloofness just as the piss stream hits the bowl, bubbling so loud her voice becomes distorted. I hear a loud-mouth at another table praise the economy and his modest mastery of it. As I shake, I hear a nervous young man tell his date how beautiful her hair looks. Flush and wash my hands. I wait to put them under the dryer, compelled by the swoon of the obvious first date. He stumbles over every word as he tries so hard to be smooth. Exasperation from the wait staff at the increasing capacity; the dryer rushes to life, drowns all else out. With dry hands, I stay a moment longer, focusing on the first date, but the loud-mouth suit gets louder. I’ve been in here too long now; my party thinks I’m pooping for sure. Thank god I’m not; if I can hear them, could they hear that? Could they hear the stream? Do they know I’m still in possession of a healthy prostate? I’m not one to eavesdrop, I’d rather watch lips move and imagine the words. But the pull of this auditory wormhole is too great to resist. Give me a superpower and I’d always pick flying. I’m a watcher not a listener. I don’t listen half the time when people are talking to me. What’s the worst superpower? Reading minds, being inside people’s thoughts. The oddities that pass through my skull. The truths, the lies, the I-don’t-know-whys. I turn the knob and leave this bathroom.

Firetrucking Brickhead

When raised by sailors

who’ve never piloted a boat

there’s an art to colorful language

that must be taught

little ears have little mouths

and they tend to pick up on

the words we love to shout

That coffee table that stubbed your toe

It’s a motherfiretrucker

not the little Matchbox kind

the big ones that light up with sirens when you push them

That neighbor whose dog keeps shitting in your yard

he’s an ashhole

just make sure there’s a fire pit in his backyard

or you might want to go with brickhead

you know, because he has a retaining wall in his driveway

When you come home late from work

smelling of alcohol, blaming traffic

she knows you’re full of ship

all those tiny plastic boats filling your pockets

You’ll thank me one day for these parenting tips

when pushing a spoiled toddler in a shopping cart

down the toy aisle at Target

little fingers pointing as your head keeps shaking NO

and out of that sweet, innocent mouth screams

I want that, you firetrucker!

and all the fellow shoppers smile at you

and thank you for your obvious bravery

at being a first responder

They may even buy you a coffee

A word from the author: A little strange, hopefully funny. I have a website at www.jasonmelvinwords.weebly.com