Bathroom Traveler

A map of the world
in living color
hangs like a plump
ripened apple
or clear curtain
of diaphanous film
from the rod
of my mysterious
shower.

As I unzip
unbutton
and disrobe,
discard a chaotic pile
of jeans and socks
on brown tile,
I wonder where
on earth
shall I trek
towards today?

Morocco Spain
Finland Red China

each beckon
brightly their
unique seductions

like thick paint
for smearing on canvas
or page after page
of brief poems of beauty
from hemispheres
across astonishing
oceans,

these nations’ murmured
strange grammars
and customs which
surprise and enchant me

take me forth far
across borders
with no guards,
no smoke spewing
twelve year old cars.

Then standing naked
and tall in the tub,
I turn the faucet
wide open to soak,

playfully splash
and rub slick soap
over skin in no hurry
without need
for passport
or worry

fly solo in high
clouds of cool
spray cross time
zones in ten
seconds flat

as I travel within
the lands of this
refreshing
transparent
flat map

in these dear days
of liquefied
hours!