Silent and almost motionless,
he stands in February’s Finale
shower stall, long before sunrise,
certain there will be no morning
nor even any likelihood of light.
He aims the almost scalding stream
from the hand-held shower head at
everything he owns, everything that
has come to own him all night long;
everything that has kept him achingly
awake, longing to be eased and erased,
cleansed and washed away like
everything else in his overly long life;
even everything he’s cherished;
everything that has always just
disappeared down the drain.
He usually sings in the shower, but
today even his all-time favorite tunes
have been washed from his memory.
Open Link Night #285