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.
Hello Readers, You know how it is when you focus on something like maybe your…
Portrait of Emily She sits in the bedroom window like curtains, whitely gazing down at…
Underground Gardens Legend was, After a quarrel with his father, He left Sicily behind And…
Their fair share We turn at the band stand because you say it’s getting dark.…