the sign on the bathroom door says OMEN

I laugh, but
die inside the first stall.
There’s no toilet paper
and a diamondback
falls into my lap like a shower
caddy prone to jump scare.
I’m waiting for the dregs
of my period to leak
black oil while women
prisoners fight fires
for $2 a day.

when I fossilize, I’m sure
I’ll be discovered as
a deviant burial.  ATATs
stand stiffly in the Oakland air.
My forked tongue tastes
smoke. A girl might have been
flirting with me. I look out
the BART window,
see a violet house
by the Dwan Elevator
Company.

My iPod keeps giving
me ideas on shuffle setting:
“This is the Last Time,”
“I Bet On Losing Dogs”