Shower

My walls of solitude
have been constructed;
for the next 15 minutes
nothing can break
them down.
Not even my own
personal thoughts
can worm their way in
through the depths
of my shower stall.

Droplets of water
land on my skin,
cleansing every pore
like a rainstorm
does to flowers
in the middle of spring.

I hum a tune
I have just made up
in the back of my mind,
while the sweet scent
of honeydew
fills the air.

I am naked;
or so I think:
Free from the sins
of everyday living;
free of the sadness
that follows every human being.

Yet when I step out
from my poor-man's hot tub,
I begin to shudder
as I do every morning.
For the face that stares back
from my foggy
bathroom mirror
is only a mask:
a mirage, a reflection
of something I wish
I could be.

Every day,
in my shower,
I wash
only plastic.


~J.V.Harker~
~Sunday 9 August 2009~