The Next Stall Over

The shoes, expensive, scuffed at the heel,

visible beneath the metal gap.

A low murmur, then a quick gasp,

a sound I shouldn't feel

the pull to hear.

The words came in broken pieces,

like dropped ceramic. A name. A lie.

The thin wall, barely steel, just ceases

to hold the privacy, and I

am a witness.

A twitching toe, a stifled sob,

then a rush of water, too fast, too loud,

trying to scrub the secret from the cub-

icle. The air feels suddenly tight, a shroud.

I just want to leave.