Stage Fright

Every little sound echoes behind me
like whispers bouncing with the bright light
magnified because everything in the room
is white.

The paint on the wall in front of me is dull, flat,
but the ceramic tiles that cover so much
of the room’s cold surfaces
and the bright clean porcelain of the sinks
leave me feeling like I have a floodlight
at my back.

The squeak of a faucet handle,
the paper towels being ripped from the wall,
sound like missiles flying and crashing down
as I try to focus and relax.

The only touch of color when I entered this
restroom of deafening whiteness
was the deep yellow tint in the basins of so many
urinals.

Every urinal, in fact, but the one directly in front of me.

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