My vanity is asymmetrical.
No matter where I look there’s something wrong:
geometry, the knobs I have to pull,
the faucet taps, and how it takes too long
to feel its water warm into my palm.
Its crooked bottom edge disturbs my view.
One door is out of plumb. I’m staying calm,
but I may trade it in for something new.

Or maybe I’ll keep eccentricity.
This much irregularity can please.
It’s so unvain and yet called vanity!
The flaws at first disliked begin to ease
the months of chronic twinges in my neck.
I may decide I want to keep this wreck.