I never want to leave the shower,
especially in the morning,
while I am washing yesterday
down the drain with soap
from a spring in Ireland.
I write 'Thank You'
on the foggy glass of the shower door,
with an arrow pointing up
for Hashem to hear me,
and my gratitude, hopefully.
I dry my body hard,
because I am a cold-hearted snake,
and the pink flower towel
looks funny wiping the water away
from my tattooed body.
I start at my head,
and work my way down to my feet,
because of gravity's way,
and that is just how I always did it,
no one showed me.
I look at my body in the mirror,
and it is a flower, too,
just older, with scars,
a couple gray hairs
here and down there.
I get dressed
as fast as I can
for bed or breakfast,
and continue aging,
getting dirty again and again.