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