A Lot

Above the paper towel dispenser,

in the bathroom of a bar I go to because it's close,

someone wrote in black marker:

He said I was a lot and he was right.

Letters uneven. Pressed hard at the curves.

The ink bled a little into the paint.

The R especially.

Someone knocked. I'd been in there too long.

Outside, a friend was mid-sentence.

I came back and said sorry, what were you saying,

and they told me,

and I nodded,

and was there,

and also still in the bathroom

watching the marker bleed at the curves,

thinking about whoever pressed that hard

and what they meant by right.