As soon as eyes close, and water hits face
My internal sense of direction is catapult to space.
Spinning and soapy, slick as mole rat,
Some omniscient Mom God is shaking her head at that.
I fall through the mist, about to crash hard,
But am saved by the support bar, miraculously unscarred.
How can it be, so close to third decade and three,
but still in the shower I cannot see?
Proud as a lark, as I wash under my toes
Between big and pinky, and up to my nose.
The water shuts off, the journey is done.
One more day I’ve survived and won!
But what will tomorrow bring, a soapy demise?
Let’s just be realistic, and hope for no soap in my eyes.