Finished in the stall, I approach the sink.
Someone else has made a mess,
although I didn't know this on my approach.
The faucet handle holds some remaining soap suds
from a previous user who decided to disinfect.
Certain things ruin a day
and make a day.
I lean over the sudsy handle,
my pants touching so slightly against the counter.
Water, scrub, wring, rinse, flick.
Backing away, reaching for a paper towel, and
looking down with a frown and a wince,
I notice the waterline across my pleated khakis
begin to bleed and spread.