and get some quiet time alone
away from the hustle
and bustle of the holidays,
i take a long
walk into the woods,
off trail at Huntley Meadows.
unfortunately, i've had
two large cups
of black coffee before the walk
and now
after strolling by
a rambling, noisy stream
and seeing a fox
lift his leg up against
a tree, i have to go too.
i look around, there's no one in sight,
so i unzip and let it go,
the steam of me
rises into the crisp cold air.
but then, out of nowhere
a park ranger disguised
as a mulberry bush jumps out
and tells me to stop.
i see his hand on his holster.
quickly i zip up, but it's too
late, and he's got me
in handcuffs and reading
me my rights.
you're under arrest, he tells me,
for urinating in public
and desecrating an oak tree.
did you not see that box turtle
nestled under the leaves?
look at him, he's soaked.
he puts me into the back seat
of his car
and starts driving me to the police
station for lock up.
i'm sorry, i tell him, i just had
to go, and i couldn't hold it in
any longer, especially after
hearing that babbling brook
and seeing that fox
relieving himself.
he looks at me in the rear view
mirror and shakes his head.
no excuse he says.
i'm tired of people peeing all
over mother nature.
but i had two Venti black coffees
in me from Starbucks.
over thirty-two ounces of caffine
and water.
what's a Venti? he says,
scratching his chin
a Venti is a large, i think
it's Italian, meaning large, i tell him,
okay, so what's a medium?
Grande.
hmmm. and a small.
they call that a tall.
geez marie, he says, why don't
they just say small, medium and large?
i shrug my shoulders. i don't know,
i guess they want to jazz it up
to excuse their high prices.
you shouldn't be peeing in a state
park, he scolds me again,
shaking his head.
what if a bunch of kids or old
ladies were walking by, you'd be
in a heap more trouble than you are now.
sorry, i say, again. i just couldn't
hold it anymore, and these are
my good corduroy pants.
if i wet them, they'd freeze on me.
you ever try to walk in frozen pants?
huh? he says.
i mean, what do you do when you
have to go really bad,
and you're in your patrol car?
say you're on the hunt for a rabid
coyote, or someone is on the run
after fishing without a license?
he smiles. i got that handled, he says.
my wife was an arts and crafts major
at Swarthmore and she made this for me.
he holds up a giant red cup.
he tilts it so that i can see the large
hole with a funnel at the top.
she made this for me
on her work bench in the basement.
she calls it the Pee Cup. she's trying
to have it patented and then
selling it on Amazon.
wow, i tell him. she's a genius.
he smiles and looks at me in the mirror
again.
that's why i married her, he says.
for her ingenuity,
and for her buttermilk biscuits. he
gives me a wink,
which makes me think he's not really
referring to buttermilk biscuits.
i wish i had had one of those cups
with me while i was walking in
the woods, i tell him, feigning sadness,
and letting out a sigh.
yeah, he says. yeah, rubbing
his chin again.
suddenly he pulls to the side
of the road, then leans over
the seat to look at me
after sliding his bear trap
and skunk repellant
out of the way.
you know what, he says, it's three days
before Christmas and you seem like
a nice guy,
hold up your hands and let me
uncuff you. i'm letting you go with
a warning. but don't let
me catch you peeing in the woods again.
Okay?
that poor little turtle. cripes.
i won't, i promise, i tell him. i won't.
and you know what, he says.
i'm really in the Christmas spirit,
so i'm giving you my pee cup,
wow i tell him, rubbing my wrists
and shaking the pain
out of my cramped hands.
thank you, thank you so much.
but i'd wash it out real good first,
okay. i've been drinking from
my thermos all morning, hot ginger
spice tea,
and well, i had to use it a few times.
now get out of here.
Happy Holidays.
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