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short fiction  short poetry  short commentary  short..uh..art
 

 
   

 

  
  Liesl Jobson

Bathroom Blues



The winter dash
from my pyjamas
to under the hot water
without exposing skin to icy air
is a ridiculous polka,
paralleled by the shuffling
inarticulate conversations
we circumvent.

The water pressure is low
the geyser far away.
When I should be leaving
I'm juggling soap and shampoo.
When I should have gone
I'm spitting down the drain.

I piss in the shower to save a minute
when I need a lifetime to catch up.

 

 

 

 




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