The Bath

So buoyant, the bath, the salts,
the uncreaked bones, the knob
and socket, like that blasé afternoon
with its shallow sun and lotions,
with its plinkos and tokens –
that cool and wayward drift
on a raft, chest to the sky,
when the chatter fell,
when the tide rolled in,
and heaved me up
on the sharp edge of the beach,
and left me there, thrown out,
reeling, as water
dragged the blood away.

Image: Conor Sexton on Unsplash

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.