It’s the way it’s done
that looks so damning:

the drive towards relief
the grimace, the aggressive 
force of expelling.

We don’t on the floor
at home but on the street,
and most often alone
but not unobserved,

and girls do it, too:
a solo performance 
in the key of middle finger
akin to swearing, shoving,
rivaled only by public pissing.

How we order each other
on common ground
to Step aside. Look away.

Perhaps since the streets 
share our past lives
it’s still familiar to tip 
our chamber pots.
And where else do we
sit when dazed if not
on the tolerant curb

forever in love
with the infinite gutter
that never refuses?