What are you thinking, taking
the stall next to mine? It's pissing me off!

There's no personal-space buffer zone.
Your body heat encroaches
upon me, a vigilante electric blanket.

I'm only looking at you to make sure
you're not peeking at me and my best
friend. From the cradle, we've been joined

at the hip, he and me, surviving Freudian anxieties
and staying up late, telling jokes, sharing a drink
when Susie Davis blocked our hopes as
a roid-raged linebacker might, and

here you come, taking the stall next to mine
when it's clear you could choose any other.
I'll flush you like a bean burrito if you even
think about casually brushing my elbow,

but maybe it was my fault in the first place.
I could have gone one over next to the wall,
but that would've left me checkmated.

There's nothing left for me but to wash my hands
of this urinal, and of your lack of etiquette.