I RUN
baths like I write poems.
Draw the hot water first,
soak the blank white.
Leave it sit for a while
often too long
’til it soups cold.
Or I’ll run it steaming full,
let out the excess to avoid floods,
that unwanted heat bit by bit,
top up with the C tap.
Submerge ’til skin
turns pink, sweat forms
on my brow, pores burst––
Candles burn for the sake,
too dark to see by, I’m out
dripping puddles, cross-legged.
Capsized I read most of the 4,6 books
scribble in biro, wet-handing the paper.
I forget to shave at least one leg.
I’m dipping in and out
of foam-infested waters –
plastic sharks, a rubber duck,
a yellow submarine –
wind-up toys
with their wind all gone
float beside me with painted smiles.
Out of nowhere the shark’s
cogs turn again, it heads towards me
a finned bullet losing direction.