Her hair clings
To the shower wall,
Reading like hieroglyphs,
And the Rosetta stone
Has washed down the drain
Clogging the pipes.
Soapy residue floats like regret
On the lukewarm sea
Of the ever-deepening floor.
Water once beat here,
Instead of this cacophony
Of a thousand pissings.
Mildew resides in the edges,
In the corners, where hope hides
To not be found.
All the lathering, all the scrubbing
Won't cleanse the dirt
That hangs on
Like a fading memory.
The pressure will subside soon
And the curtain will open
To a new world—
Dry of sense.
2 comments:
Did you not want to go to work this morning? I love the hieroglyph line. Especially because my wife has long ass hair that ends up on the shower wall if she's not careful, but the images is vivid and a bit gross. The word choice is so dreary (residue, lukewarm, fading), but I guess a shower with a clogged drain is a not a grea thing, Drano works wonders too.
From my reading, this poem broaches upon similar themes as Chris's "can't change." The metaphoric use of heiroglyphs and Rosetta stone adds to the theme, as if an ancient stain, withstanding the elements of time. Although that new world is presented in the end, the lasting images offered of the shower resonates more powerfully, and you make it quite clear that the dirt still hangs.
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