Miriam finds
that standing
on two bricks

over a pit
to ****
quite distasteful

the door
just about
bolts

voices of others
in the block
waiting their turn

unnerving
some voices foreign
shouting out

balancing
is the art
arms out stretched

but crouching
as if
about to take off

in imagined flight
the stench
of previous users

nauseating
her underwear
about her knees

her skirt
hitched up
no mention of this

in the holiday brochure
she muses
clutching her

own brought
toilet tissue
in one hand

the hot sun above
pushing down
attracting flies

she *****
them away
with her free hand

shoo shoo
she says
bouger sur

bouger sur
some one bellows
that French prat

she muses
get a move on
your ****** self

she bellows back
almost
unbalancing

her hold
she breathes out
then in

finishes
her task
performs the art

of cleansing
redresses
steps from brick

to edge
of dark grass
and unbolts

the door
and pushes through
the throng

feeling undone
sensing something
out of order

like a song
performed
wrong.