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Array
(
[sid] => 106643
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Pigeons Watch Me Shower
[time] => 2005-09-27 22:15:57
[hometext] => something that resulted out of an ordinary, every day experiance, but that takes on a new sense of personal meaning to me
[bodytext] => 5:07 A.M. groggy eyed I stumble out of bed, Smushing the sleep from my eyes with the palm of my hand, Sweaty from bittersweet dreams, like chocolate... Clouding my Memory, my grasp; And so I pad into the bathroom in my mismatched pajamas, Cringing as I turn on the light. I squint my eyes shut tighter and tighter, Turning the spigot, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, For the burning water my skin is craving. As I step in, peeling off the pajamas, Peeling off the second skin of sleep, Begrudgingly waving at the new day, Greeting it with a mumble and a shrug. Goosebumps attacking my body as the water seeps into the marrow of my bones, The bones of my life. Closing my eyes, hesitantly, Hesitantly waking as the water, Pours and sprintzes and Squirts into my slity morning eyes. Squinting through the water, Through the spotty glass of the shower, There is no curtain. And a half smile crosses my face. I don't mind. Nothing to hide or conceal, my teenage-nakedness, Pale, tinted yellow by the light, looking Skin riddled with angst, but no more, no less. And yet no one, not a soul, Can see me shower. Save the pigeons. Who flutter on the outside ledge, by the window. Watching, watching... I stand there, lathering my hair with a shampoo that smells of something I wouldn't be able to pronounce; a chemical perfume made in some lab, somewhere, somehow-it doesn't matter. All that matters is The pigeons, watching me, naive, For they don't understand, for they have not tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, (And we have just began to whet our appetites) They see a human, nothing of consequence, They simply, curiously, nervously watch like toddlers, Stumbling in on their parents making love in the kitchen. And there I stand, Mind racing, head aching, yakking, screaming, whispering bullying self-critical reverberating madness, Over and over and over. And still the alarm clock in the master bedroom, Reads 5: 53 A.M. As the pigeons watch me shower, Mocking me for my black/white/black/whitish wings, Never as gray and silky soft as theirs. Standing there, eyes wide open. Not moving, only thinking, Of the day to come, And the pigeons: who watch me shower. [comments] => 8 [counter] => 256 [topic] => 73 [informant] => SunflowersAndTea [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 29 [ratings] => 6 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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