Let the water get warm.
Step under the spray
its weight, its warmth
holds you firmly in place.
This is your only alone
time in a day surrounded
consumed by people and demands
cashiers, red-light cameras,
and social norms.
Stretch your neck muscles
one side, then the other, the tighter side.
The side you use to hold purse straps,
cradle phones, schlep around grocery bags.
The side you sleep on until you get a headache,
roll over to face the light
from your neighbor's kitchen
shining through your window.
The water continues to pour
you stand, naked,
watch the day disappear
down the drain
insignificant as a cloud of soap bubbles.
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