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fireman

He says: "good boy", he says: "that's a good boy", he says: "that's a good stream", 
and: "Do you remember the story about the firemen?" I say: "Stop it, stop it!", but he doesn't 
stop talking. He relishes this. As if my piss couldn't touch him. He says: "good job". And 
my only defence is to go on urinating into his bath water, myself astonished that my usual 
nervous shyness doesn't make me stop. A thin, yellow stream flowing from me. He says: 
".. little fireman doing a good job!", staring at me. I say: "Why do you do this to me?" 
I say: "Do you know that you're being cruel?" But he doesn't relent, grinning: "brave little fireman!", leering at me. "This is unfair", I say, "why can't you leave me alone?" Still running, the 
piss, now stopping, now starting again, always finding some little reserve, 
somewhere in the bladder.

				17.05.00

© Anthony Thwaites