a literary journal

POETRY

Pissing It Away


 

Time doesn’t fly;

it evaporates 

like drying piss.

As it smell wafts up

scentless at first,

then stale as the gents

you’ll hold your nose 

and retch.

There’s no way to clean up this mess,

it’s best to embrace the stains,

but even then, you still might miss 

the pale yellow time 

you’ve spent all over the floor.