Ode to My Mother Pissing into a Mountain Dew Baja Blast Cup

on a long car ride in the backseat of her SUV / as I drive 80 miles an hour on the highway. / It’s these times I think about / the Antisocial Personality Disorder / you were diagnosed with in prison. / A type Google said you have in common with / Charles Manson and Hannibal Lector. Mother, / you are uncapped; cyst-like, a cavity of abnormal / character containing fluid. / If only that psychiatrist could see you now: / pants strangling your shins / as you squat; so skilled in voiding, / your face lanterned in intermittent light. / You are exquisite, / the Billy the Kid of pissing. / Lawless, aiming straight and true from the hip. / To the world you say, And?! So, fuckin’ what! / Fuck their stalls, their toilet paper, their locks. / I want to be like you; / my stream is fitful, without joy. / I am an upside-down umbrella. / You always dirty your hands when you have to. / And when the cup is overflowing, / you roll down the window and set it free / like doves let go at a wedding.

Terri Linn Davis is a neurodivergent, pop-culture obsessed writer and adjunct who teaches writing composition and poetry. She is the co-editor of Icebreakers Lit, a journal featuring collaborative writing and the host of the podcast Too Lit to Quit: the Podcast for Literary Writers. You can find some of her poems, reviews, and craft talks in Flypaper Lit, Cultural Daily, The Daily Drunk Mag, Five South, Ghost City Review, and elsewhere. She lives in the Northeastern United States with her co-habby and their three children. You can find her on Twitter @TerriLinnDavis and on her website www.terrilinndavis.com

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