Dave Bonta treats the bathroom as a place worth paying attention to. The poem is a string of short scenes, some funny, some awkward, some oddly tender: a perfect mirror that instantly fogs, an old man hunting for something to push, a stranger howling in a library stall, a millipede stuck in a spider web. The speaker watches all of it with a dry, self-deprecating shrug ("Hey, it happens").
The tone is mostly jokey, but the jokes keep brushing against bigger things. The graffito that might as well read "Everybody Meditates" suggests that these private moments are a kind of quiet reflection. The millipede, the streams running through three million households, and the kids squatting in the creek all remind us that bodily life is shared and natural. The last image, a turd falling into an old privy with no sound of water, is silly and strangely peaceful. The mood is playful, observant, and gently humbled.