Doing All Right

Sitting here by myself
      listening to the rattling fan,
 
 Painting imitation Pollocks 
      across the inside of the toilet,
 
 Watching fallen pubes and other hairs
      entangle dust bunnies
      congregated behind the door,
 
 I smile and think of you.
 
 I am glad you do not rush
      to clean up my messes,
      nor nag me to do it myself.
 
 Our standards seem aligned
      as demonstrated by the mess
      surrounding my diarrhea-splattered,
      mildewed canvas of porcelain. 
 
 Our ways aren't ideal
      and most couldn't handle us,
      but we seem to do all right
 
 in our flawed perfection.
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