a clown walked in on me in the bathroom at Belks.
he said he was sorry, but not before handing me a card,
then closing the broken stall door.
the card read: Swampy, good time party clown.
i saw the shoes before the door opened,
wondering if a flashback from mushrooms or acid
caught up with me or if it was death catching me
squatting, pants down, unable to defend my position or my life.
Swampy winked when he opened the door
a split-second after a masterpiece left me.
that's when i realized there is something worse than
having toilet water lick halfway up your back.
all the hand dryers had signs saying out of order,
mispelled in large print: Out of ordur.
the paper towel dispensers dripped empty.
Swampy stood outside smoking a cigarette.
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