(virtually overheard poem from www.blogcatalog.com)

 I don’t have time in my life. I live next to scarcity—
what a cold wake-up blast. One of the biggest,
clean bodies 

of water,
and I don’t have a rubber duck.
I am the infamous 

queen of bubbles and essential
oils, conserving my next
5-10 minutes to improve 

circulation. You must be ashamed to love
luxuriating in aversion. The thought
of just sitting there 

in my own filth. Haven’t you thought
about that? All my water
comes from top quality ardor, 

diverted into flowerbeds
and landscaping
by Jacuzzi jets. I can’t stand 

lavender and eucalyptus.
Give me palpitations in the evening

before I sleep. I love soaking,
and I like to be greasy. I mean, 

to tone the skin, make my hair shinier.
Other activities can be enjoyable 

in the tub. Someone stole
my planet, and it really doesn’t matter.

I have a huge, open mouth
that I keep fresh, for an American anyway. But 

baths don’t cover me
like they used to. Turns out, 

I’m the delicate type.
I can only be dry-cleaned,
and that explains everything.