' ' ' ' ' ' Nothing Works Faster Poem by Dónall Dempsey

NOTHING WORKS FASTER

I am in
the process of

passing urine
into an urinal

at an Heathrow
Terminal

(never can go on planes)

when idly glancing
as I ease my bladder

(“For this relief...much thanks! ”
I quote Hamlet to myself)

My eye
is held

by a machine
clamped upon the wall
as if it had just climbed there
at the first tinkle of pee.

It is busy advertising
different textured flavoured

coloured condoms.

I smile
at the hard sell.

Obviously catering to
all possibilities

it
sells as well

(after all it is
a him & her world)

packets of
ANADIN.

He’s got a hard on...
she’s got a headache.

That’s the way
the money goes

pop goes
the weasel.