It’s a lap swimming ritual
at the end of the swim
to stand in the showers naked
with the guys, waiting for hot water
to find its way to the end of the pipe.
Hands held in the cold stream–
sometimes we turn on two shower heads
thinking that will hurry the process.
We stand like ancient aborigines around a fire,
and soap up when heat arrives.
Frank Babcock, poet, is a retired middle school teacher and owner of Marys Peak Bamboo. He lives in Corvallis, Oregon. He has maintained an interest in poetry all of his adult life and writes poetry because it feels wonderful to do so; he likes sharing what goes on in his silly mind. He is married, the father of many, and currently enjoys twelve grandchildren.
Still Life of a Still Life The fruited bowl adorns the table just so, slanted…
At the Bench She unhooks her helmet and set it down level with the black…
Conversation among the Ruins, 1927 --after the painting by Giorgio de Chirico The sky is…
"Grace" If a meal begins without a prayer burt no one is around to condemn…
A Walk in Winter The snow sets the trees apart Black trunks rising from the…