Soap In My Eyes

A warm bath gone bad.

In the hurried hollow of the day,
amid the ultimate freedom to count
stars and inhale the fragrance of
fresh perennials, it will come
to shake my equilibrium.
A roadblock to calm,
an intrusion to serene, a plea from
an otherworldly realm vexing and
taxing like a manic vagabond.
I relax among the warm bath
water, overfilled with the
craving to shed the day’s
stress, surrounded by billowing
suds born via generous spigot.
Yet I do not remain unscathed.
No, the seascape of frothy
white suds bestows its
unwelcome agression,
wherein blinking becomes
a fierce necessity,
and a scream of sting reaches,
almost, to sinus cavities nearby.
Red sunsets, music, poetry…
all fade away as the soap
in my eyes wields a
piercing lance.

26 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
8-13-17