Pink X-Ray

In the shower
no lights on,
none necessary,
I know where everything is
or should be.
Nevertheless, I hold my breath,
anticipating a reeling emergency,
but it’s just a feeling.
Some people fear almost everything.
I am a professional.
I know what I’m doing.
Bullets of hot water,
steam sketching a cloud,
soap scumbling my face and hands,
I am a cleansed ghost,
shining in the pink dark.
Only my x-ray charm
and infallible sense of direction
prevent me from swirling
down the giddy vortex
south to the equator
where everything,
even the undertow
of this careening planet,
swirls in reverse,

except death.

Santa Fe Literary Review, 2012

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