My favorite room is where I take my bath,
eliminate all waste, and shed old skin.
In silver water I submerge my wrath.
A gulp of water cleanses me within.

More vivid are my bathroom memories
than those of any other rooms I’ve known.
Its grout-and-tile, glass and porcelain please
my hands and feet and eyes.
My only throne abides there,
holey seat as statuesque
as sculpted stone.
I read there and the light
is good.
I execute an arabesque
before its loyal mirror and the sight
is not so bad.
I’m gratified to see
with bathroom eyes
acceptability.