Incontince

A poem about one of the more embarrasing symptoms I have.

On the days that I know it's going to bad.
I work out how much I can drink.
And try not to think,
About how badly I really want that Mocha.

Remind myself the headache is just dehydration, probably.
And think about the coffee,
When I get home.

I stave of the panic that you'll notice, that you'll smell it.
Buy copious amounts of body spray.
Outside I look for puddles, Inside, I go for toilets.
Hoping to hide the down pour.

And while your day may be measured in how long till you can go home.
Mines often measured in pee.
And related secrecy.

Author's Note

I want to do more with this one I think. Bit this is all I've got right now. Thanks for reading.