Bathroom Graffiti Poet Emerges from Stall

by Jacob Brown

The crowded café surges with Bohemian energy as an assortment of pony- tailed artists discuss life over lattes. Here, among the biscotti, espressos, and tiny, round tinted-sunglasses, flows an exchange of wit and goatee-trimming tips unparalleled anywhere else in the known universe. It is here that Jim Sterling—local poet extraordinaire—sits down gingerly across from me, slips an extra-strength Laxative into his triple mocha cappuccino and takes a long, grateful sip.

“You know, I’ve always been told that you have to suffer to write,” he begins, wiping a thick layer of foam from his upper lip. “So, I think it’s no coincidence that my art didn’t really take off until I contracted acute Dysentery.”

It’s insightful observations like these that belie Sterling’s poetic essence—the spirit of a true artist lies just beneath that pale, sweaty exterior. From his doubled-over, cramped-with-pain posture, he is able to rise time and time again to new heights of artistic genius and glory.

“Before I came along, Stall Poetry consisted of a swear word or two, say, maybe, fuck, or even fuckstick. At best, you’d get a clever limerick or a racial slur.”

“But you’ve changed all that,” I remark, as his eyes glow with pride.

“Yeah, I’ve definitely revolutionized the scene. Thanks to me, poetry aficionados on the John can be treated to sonnets, heroic couplets, or even haiku.” As I nod appreciatively and start to ask Sterling if he wouldn’t mind sharing some of his recent work, a sudden and dramatic change washes over his strained features.

“Excuse me,” he manages to choke out, holding his stomach and dropping the now empty latte cup. “But, I am suddenly inspired.” Before I have a chance to react, he has taken off across the room, sprinting to the bathroom. A buzz of excitement rises in the café as the patrons realize they are bearing witness to a great event in the history of Art. By the espresso bar, men cry tears of joy and near the window, some even begin to cheer.

For what seems like an eternity, we wait. Day turns to night and back again, but we do not sleep. Guzzling triple shots to stay awake, we keep our eyes glues constantly to the restroom door. The little diagram of a man mocks us with his silence; he reveals nothing of what wondrous things are surely being brought to life behind his stenciled visage.

And then, two weeks later, just as we have almost given up hope, Sterling emerges. Swinging open the door and bursting triumphantly into the Café, he declares, “I have just written an entire epic!”

Words cannot describe the elation that I feel upon hearing Sterling’s voice. Fighting back tears, I motion him back to my table. Shaking with anticipation, barely able to hold my pen and notepad, I ask him if he would please share with us some lines from his new Opus.

Sterling looks at me, staring directly into my soul, and then, gravely, begins to recite.

“As you sit and take a shit

take a sec and think a bit

just last night I beat my meat

on this very toilet seat.”

The café erupts into cheers; we know we are in the presence of a true genius.

“Mr. Sterling,” I say, bowing my head in admiration, “you are truly a gift to the arts.”

And he is. In the time since my interview, Sterling has published over 50 volumes of Stall Poetry, ranging from such melancholy tales of woe such as, “Alas, My Lens Has Fallen In” to romantic sonnets like, “I’m Not Allowed In The Lady’s Room”. Also of particular notability is Sterling’s joyful narrative piece, “Relax with Ex-Lax.”

Whatever your artistic taste may be, I am confident that you’ll enjoy the work of Jim Sterling. His command of language is masterful—his verses are infinitely tighter than his bowels. This is one young man overflowing with creative talent; it would benefit us all to sit down and take a good, long, satisfying look.

At any rate, Sterling is definitely a poet to watch. Stall Poetry is growing at an exciting rate, and who knows where this art form will take us?

“I have a lot to share with the world,” Sterling says, to conclude our interview.

“One day, I even hope to work with urinals.”