Tonight I saw the bathtub tremble.
I stood there peeing at the side
of the toilet, the other side occupied
by the door, which is not a door but
is ajar when it cannot be closed
without damaging the frame
in which it rests. In the top left
corner of the mess it already
started to wear the pine wood
raw where the unforgiving 90-
degree-would-be plane of the door
has warped toward the heavens.
Was it just a dream? Although, the steam
from my long, hot showers can explain
well the ample coating of condensation
that accumulates on the walls and mirror.
After showers, when I want to see me clear,
I give a face-level wipe, and by now
I’ve learned to use a nearby hand towel
to avoid a smear when the condensate returns.