Piss Pot Comparisons

By CRALAN KELDER

 

choose your own adventure,

in Scenario one, you step out of your office, crossing the unremarkable hall into the Men’s Toilet, taking in the little hieroglyph of the stick figure with pants on the door. This is exercise, a break from computering. Once inside there are no windows, two cubicles, a second set of locks and everything is septic and strip-lit. Choose the left door because pop-psychology dictates most people choose the right. The door closes behind you are expected to lock yourself in a small tiled space completely devoid of character. You take your piss and leave, considering whether or not 6 oz. of urine is worth a flush, probably not, but you do it anyway out of respect for the Serbian girl who cleans the building.

Scenario 2! In Scenario two, you are in the Drakensberg Mountains (here be dragons) of Lesotho drinking joala (sorghum beer) with Men! Real men piss standing up against the kraal, which is the stone enclosure where cattle are kept. You stumble to the kraal at dusk and survey the scene while you relieve a quarter liter of hangoverinducing unfiltered homebrew against the chest-high rock pile listening to the snort and shuffle of beasts weighing hundreds of kilos. Mountain peaks 360°, wind, sun, rain, elements! Men armed with whips and fighting sticks on horseback shouting at you, each other, everybody within shouting distance! Drink during the day because by nightfall we must all be inside away from prowling spirits and tokolosi. Women are not allowed near kraals due to fears of menstrual pollution and the potential of exposing your privates. It feels good to piss outside your brain inebriated on fermented grain, and not consider the pros and cons of flushing.

 

 

Cralan Kelder, author of Give Some Word, has had work recently published in Zen Monster, Poetry Salzberg Review, and VLAK.

[Purchase your copy of Issue 05 here]

Piss Pot Comparisons

Related Posts

Leila Chatti

My Sentimental Afternoon

LEILA CHATTI
Around me, the stubborn trees. Here / I was sad and not sad, I looked up / at a caravan of clouds. Will you ever / speak to me again, beyond / my nightly resurrections? My desire / displaces, is displaced. / The sun unrolls black shadows / which halve me. I stand.

picture of dog laying on the ground, taken by bfishadow in flickr

Call and Response

TREY MOODY
My grandmother likes to tell me dogs / understand everything you say, they just can’t / say anything back. We’re eating spaghetti / while I visit from far away. My grandmother / just turned ninety-four and tells me dogs / understand everything you say. / They just can’t say anything back.