Sunday, November 28, 2010


I'm gonna tell y'all a story about how i shit my pants.
That's right, i was about four years old or so
And i was shopping at JC Penny's with the Moms,
She used to let me run wild while she looked around,
It was the Eighties and the Moms was apt
To find herself trying on a maroon pleather jacket,
Which matched her maroon boots,
The ones with the four inch heals
She either stole from Prince or Cyndi Lauper,
Anyway, she didn't much pay me any mind,
So, i used to hide in the circular racks of clothes
And pretend that i was in a foxhole,
Or, evading enemy fire in trench during the Great War,
Sometimes i would hide under the manikins
Who had on the long skirts,
And, i would admire the long shapely manikin legs,
Which to my judgement were engineered with
The very same care and precision as Greek columns,
And, i would let my hands follow those long Doric columns
All the way up to the equally beautiful bas relief,
Imagined, of course, with prepubescent Marvin
Seated amongst the Gods,
So, i would spend hours on end touching and feeling
These legs as solid as granite slabs,
While the Moms tried on the maroon jacket
And danced around looking at clothes,
Until such and such employee would
Be informed by a customer of by bawdy transgressions,
And, then the employee would have to wrangle me outa there,
Always with same bitchy tone,
Always with the same spiteful expression,
Always with the same vulnerability to her eyes,
Ostensibly she was just doing her job,
Doing what was expected of her,
But, deep down i could see that what she really desired
Was for someone to look upon her
With same admiration,
Oh, Debra if i only knew then what i know now!
So, Debbie would drag me to the Moms
Hollering and squirming,
Because i didn't think that i was doing no harm,
And, the Moms didn't care,
She laughed at the whole mess,
Maybe because she saw a bit of her own
Self in my innocent actions,
Maybe because she couldn't believe it,
And, was plain mystified by her son
Who was hardly able to wipe his own ass,
Who still wore shoes with the Velcro straps,
With the blue dots on the left shoe,
And, the red dots on the right shoe,
Which she bought him so that he would stop
Putting his shoes on the wrong foot
And having his feet take off in divergent directions,
May be she was mystified that her little boy,
Who could read and write and draw unicorns
And deranged men with giant noses and bifurcated-dicks,
Who still walked in circles and put his Levi's on backwards,
Could have ever even reckoned to climb
Underneath that manikin's skirt,
But, then she remembered her brother Samuel's Boda,
And, how the little weirdo in front of her,
The same strange being who'd incubated in her for nine months,
Ruined his white wool blazer
Because he'd lain down on his back,
And, pushed himself along the waxed floor
Of the reception hall
As though he were some kind of human powered floor buffer,
Patting himself on the belly and making train-engine-noises,
Until he snuck up on some older girls
So that he could stare up their skirts,
She remembered some sixteen year old girl named Griselda
Dragging her son, whose heals slid across the waxed floor,
Demanding that he be punished,
But, she reacted then as she reacted now,
By picking her sobbing boy
And hugging him while she laughed,
She had on the pleather coat,
That maroon number that smelled vaguely
Like a couch in smoky room,
Then the Moms set me down
And i asked her if i could go to the bathroom,
Because even though i was only four or so,
I'd waken up with the Pops at five-thirty
And had drunk me a cup of joe,
And, now i needed to pee-pee real bad,
So, i walks myself down to the bathroom
And close the door of the stall behind me,
And, i am standing there like a fountain cherub,
But, ain't nothing coming out,
Then i close my eyes and i'm straining so hard
That a flurry of little white dots shoots outa the darkness,
Until i hear a little toot,
And, i am surprised as Hell because a poop popped out
Instead of pee,
So, i open my eyes all wide and loosen up my stomach,
And, even more poop comes out,
And, then i am left standing there with my trousers full of poop
And i don't know what else to do,
So, i start shoving toilet paper into my Ninja Turtle underwear,
And, i can't stop,
I am like a magician pulling handkerchiefs
Outa his hat only in re-wind,
Until i have half a roll of quilted two-ply in my shorts,
And, i turn around and walk out
Like a soldier injured on the battlefield,
Or, maybe i am waddling like a drunk penguin
With half a roll of toilet paper shoved up his ass,
So, i am forced to do this like ridiculously long
Walk of shame back to the Moms,
First past the kids section with racks of Osh-Gosh
And a stuffed Big Bird,
Who towers like a monolithic idol,
Then past the ladies underwear section,
And, the jewelery cases,
And the men's section with pin-stripped suits
And endless racks of Docker's khakis,
Until finally i reach the women's section
Where the Mom's can like detect something is amiss,
And, she asks me why i am walking around
Like an ostrich high on wip-its,
But, she doesn't need to ask,
She's the Moms and she knows the face
Of a boy guilty of shitting his own pants,
So, without waiting for a reply she turns me around
And looks down the back of my pants,
Where she sees this ungodly amount of feces and toilet paper,
An amount so large
Her mind strains to comprehend
How her little boy could produce such a mass,
Without a second thought she swoops me up into her arms,
And, as she clutches onto my head,
She screams "Ave Maria purisima!"
While she runs outa the JC Penny's
Chanting something incomprehensibly in Spanish,
As though to ward off the evil spirits,
And, she races toward the mocha-colored 1985 Ford Tempo,
Speeding home still seemingly speaking in tongues,
I am lying on my stomach in the front seat
So as not to wade in my filthiness,
And, i look up at this woman raving madly in Spanish
And she is like a goddess atop a pyramid,
But, instead of wearing a Phrygian cap,
She is wearing a maroon pleather jacket,
And, through those tears i feel a joy knowing
That the Moms has unwittingly committed a sizable theft,
And, for the rest of the way home
I don't care that i have on a pair of pants
Full of shit,
Because the Moms is like goddess in that maroon pleather jacket.

~Marvin Gonzalez