I got 99 bottles, but a bathroom ain’t one.

note : the following story takes place at a later age than the above photo. that was just me and my dad doing some auto mechanic stuff together. the usual.

——

When I was a boy,
a little boy, but not that little,

my dad took me to a conference,
a dental conference.

They had snacks, and pop.

We never had pop, soda pop
at home.

So it was a big deal.
I drank, and drank,
and had to pee.

I gotta go! I told my dad.

Okay, I'll take you…can
you hold on just a few more minutes?

Okay. I thought I could;

I couldn't.

Geyser, spreading stain,
map of urine spreading across
my pants,
Delaware to Texas in a heartbeat.

Mortified, I tugged at him,
surrounded by his peers and
colleagues and all the adults and cool cats in polo shirts
and 1982 ties.

Him,
mortified?

I have no idea,
but he dropped what he
was doing, without
censure or beratement,

wrapped his sport coat around
me;

me, old enough to have not 
done what I did,
and he never, not once, not
even a little, not ever did he 
ever
make me feel small,
or stupid.

He held me; that
is what I needed,
and it never happened
again.

——

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