I’m in the bathtub every Thursday eve.
The water’s always hotter than I meant,
so I don’t soak as much as sweat, and leave
the bath with scant a quarter hour spent.
The first of every month I wash my sheets
(it’s difficult to make my nookish bed).
I relish how the freshly-laundered greets
my skin a little stiff, my neck and head.

I’m not unclean – my cottage has no tub,
but once a week I’m able to immerse.
I sleep alone and seldom sweat – to rub
my linens tires them too rapidly. I nurse
myself with showers, hotter than advised.
My place is small, my habits improvised.