Ode to a Hotel Bathtub


Your wide porcelain mouth yawns at me,

Inviting me to fill you

And drain you,

As you swallow a few more gallons of hot weary traveler soup

The cold tile floor along your border

Littered with discarded wash cloths and towels and

Tiny bottles of lotion and shampoo.

Three more fluffy towels are neatly piled on the generic laminate wood end-table

Still folded, still pristine with their precise terry-cloth angles

They perform a charming ruse that suspends disbelief:

These things have never been touched, never used.

These towels,

This bathtub

Has been in patient waiting for you

And only you


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