Sean Mahoney



For this I am going to swipe, that is attempt
Finagling the vocal cadence of one Nancy Mairs
As I tell you about last evening in the dog
Park with our pups. I had the three of them
With me as is often the case. We were maybe
A quarter of the way into our stay when from
Some chamber within a valve failed. And
The urge was upon me. And what happens
Happens. God had nothing to do with it.
I cannot say for sure that the MS had
Anything to do with it either. Perhaps it
Was just me not being prepared prior
To leaving home. We ran out, me and the
Pups. They get excited when they see me
With the keys and leading them out the door.
They know and their excitement is contagious.
So we’re lolling around the park, the smallest
Stays near me if there are many pups
Shooting and darting around. The other two
Play. I begin looking for anyplace around
That might afford a moment of discretion.
Tis not to be; not here, not now. I talk
To myself silently: suck it up buttercup.
We’re almost done here. And that works
For awhile. Until the dogs are re-leashed
And we are out the gate headed back toward
The Subaru. I sense a few small releases.
I know there are no clothes in the car but
I have the plastic mitts provided by the park.
The dogs are loaded and I get in, fish a bag
Out of my pockets and cram it down between
My legs and under my crotch. Is this MS?
There really is no way to know for sure.
How can I make claims of a disease whose
Entire predilection rests upon the unpredictable
And erratic timing. All have had that moment
Of near bursting. Everyone has leaked. A little.
A lot. Be it the truth. Be it the pee. Be it
Brain function. The whistle is internal. Spot
On the front of my shorts upon returning
Home was not: bottom of a coffee mug shape.
Khaki shorts. Should have worn the Uniqlo
Briefs – thicker cotton. How can we ever
Appreciate that what happens, happens.
Today the leaks? Tomorrow Montecito.


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