J.P. White
Somewhere in Laredo
Never enough toilets.
I remember this one toilet somewhere in Laredo
No one would dare because a rooster
Was leashed to a drainpipe by one leg
And he was not happy with the tilt of his world.
Even if you could slip by him without getting
Your hand or leg pecked, the overflowing toilet
Did not have a seat and no paper to wipe with.
Some people argue the world always sits
At the table of the invisible and food is coming.
Some claim liberty for the captive
Has not advanced one verse since Corinthians.
Most of us know by now the earth is fed up
With shit in her nest. Better or worse?
Either way, slow this pilgrim, so slow
And it’s getting hard to stay in the hunt
For a toilet said to be right here, but it’s not.
J.P. White is the author of the poetry collections The Sleeper at the Party (Defined Providence Press, 2001), The Salt Hour (The University of Illinois Press, 2001), The Pomegranate Tree Speaks from the Dictator’s Garden (Holy Cow Press, 1988), and In Pursuit of Wings (Panache Books, 1978). His essays, articles, fiction, reviews, interviews and poetry have appeared in The Nation, The New Republic, The New York Times Book Review, The Los Angeles Times Magazine, The Gettysburg Review, American Poetry Review, Sewanee Review, Shenandoah, Prairie Schooner, and many other journals and anthologies. He holds a BA from New College (1973), an MA from Colorado State University (1977), and an MFA from Vermont College (1990). He lives on Lake Minnetonka near Minneapolis.
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