By Leon Schlossberg
She leaves empty toilet paper rolls, to mimic the lonely towel racks. Never changes the blade in my razor, rendered dull from shaving her legs. Squeezes the toothpaste tube in the middle, and never screws the cap back on. Clogs the shower drain with her hair, and leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor or the bedroom floor, or on the bed. I endure the mental torture because an argument with her, unthinkable. Refilling toilet paper, picking up towels, changing blades in the razor and rolling up the bottom of the toothpaste tube, I’ve become adept at covering up all the little things that make me wish she would think of me sometimes, dying to please her but instead dying of anguished frustration. Love is an interesting phenomena weakening a man and forcing him to remain silent and look away, while subjected to little annoyances that would drive any saint to tantrums. Relinquishes his self respect in return for chances to hold her even a moment, or find warmth and release in her arms. Suffers him to hold his tongue long after reason and patience have vanished. Small frustration upon frustration chipping away at order and sanity. But the world would quietly end without her footsteps beside mine, or the soap she always leaves floating in the water just over the drain clogged with her beautiful hair. There can be no life without her, no solace in loneliness, but maybe, tonight I’ll leave the toilet seat up!
This poem is from The Feminist Toilet #1. To go back and read more, click here.