A few days ago

[definitiv]

Shower

In the shower
I shut my eyes, draining
the body of residual resistance.

And with a fatalistic weightlessness,
I slid down dramatically,
a childhood crouch,
yielding to the showerhead’s spit,

I huddled this unwanted body
(for about ten minutes, or fifty-five
aches of the heart), letting water
quarrel with the ceramic.

To prevent the nascent asthma,
I slowed down my crying.
Taking breaths like hiccups
regulating myself back to safety.

After necessitating self-pity,
I staggered up like a clueless question mark.
Robotically, my body remembered
to shampoo my hair, lather the body,
while mucus negated casual soap.

We do not stand to gain from crying
except maybe weight loss, and an
inexplicable need to drink.

Post-shower, the mirror pointed out to
grey crayon-rings around my eyes,
lobbying for sympathy.

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