Morning Routine

Three boys
I was the youngest
A family of five
In a big old house
With ONE bathroom

I learned the valuable lesson
Of waiting
Patiently
How to hold
It

And getting ready for school
Was a choreography
Of hierarchy
And I would wait
And wait

Until the yellow tiled room was mine
Alone
And I could brush my teeth
In peace
Then spit

Then look in the mirror
Comb my hair
And grin at that kid
Smiling a crooked smile at me
And say “good enough for a small town”