Mens’ Station

Daniel Foster


I found Jim in the toilet the other day,
Hands braced on the stained
Steel and porcelain of the sink.

I didn’t say Hi or make eye contact,
But went to the stall he had come out of
And pissed into the pink water.

Zipping my fly, I saw him in the mirror,
Pulling at the places where his long sleeves
Stuck to his forearms.

He told me once, when we were friends,
That it didn’t hurt much
Except for the first time.

I suppose it’s interesting—2003
And all of Jim’s little suicides;
Both men and women can bleed their burdens.