In the men's room
past exit forty-three
at urinal's bottom
I'm happy to see
a waterless cartridge
waiting for me.
No need to drain
some sweet rain
from a lake, flow
a gallon fifty miles or so
just to gush away some yellow.
Now,
after hand washing
the real quandary:
is hot air or hand towel
more responsible,
environmentally?
A towel is a cut tree
hauled to a factory
macerated to slurry
a paper-milled roll,
a square cut and fold
packaging, delivery.
Stored a while some place,
a rest-room man to place
it in a stainless holder for me
to use for three—seconds
then tossing it in
a stainless can
removal by that minder man
in a plastic bag,
to toss in a tip
and truck to the dump
to sit for ever.
Or,
elbow that silver button
force some nuclear steam
through a turbine, stream
kilowatts some wired distance
reddening a coil's resistance
spinning the blower
without seeing the trace
of radioactive waste
that'll sit for ever
some place...
So what'd I do?
Well, I took so long
thinking it through
my hands drip-dried.
So I walked out,
not quite satisfied.
by Roy Hartwell Bent
in volume 2 issue 2
in volume 2 issue 2
Love this Roy. All of Pure Kona enjoyed this last week as Dan read it aloud.
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