In bladder panic, I dashed past the bar,
Past the wordless barman, brass and oak.
Into the booth, I ran, and on unzipping,
Looked down, and greeted it, a bowling ball
Of a bolus bobbing in the water
With a pair of glasses on,
if I recall,
a pair of tortoiseshell.
Submerged, it gave a knowing grin.
How could a man have given birth to this?
Did he need forceps?
Did he winch it out?
Did he look down,
Or was he led away
In shock or worse
Like foaming at the mouth?
I wish I could say I held it back
Out of respect at his passing
But nature is as nature must
And so I did
But as I let it go,
I saw this stranger’s glasses eyeing me,
And wondered if I was a walk-on part,
The kind that exits stage left
chased by bear.