J'accuse the Jacuzzi

It is like my private pool,

All white and big enough

for two to meet.

It lies alone most days

Waiting for my attention.

I fill it with water that is hotter

than a Japanese geothermal spa.

I enter naked and carefully

To sit not on river rocks

but a textured plastic bed.

The ointments dance with

the watered bubbles of air and

soon I am sitting in

a field of rain-bowed orbs

with burbled sounds

drowning my thoughts.

I am up to my ears in

pinks, yellows, greens and blues.

It is a glittering luxury.

Enough water to quench

the thirst of an Egyptian family

for months.

Enough perfumed balms

to satisfy any Cleopatra.

But I am no beauty.

I study my shell and

find I no longer recognize it.

It is covered in smudges

brown, pink, red and black.

Some smooth and some

like rough sand.

When did I lose my skin?

Did I shed it like some snake

and then step aside or 

did it flake away slowly

like cream-colored wallpaper

disappearing in the air

as I walked?

These days I must contort

like some gymnast

to enter and exit.

Some day I will not

be able to enter my private bath.

My limbs will petrify

ever so slightly but harshly.

I slip beneath the

white foam

and ask for forgiveness

and another day.

(Some may find it interesting that the photo above was originally a lovely sundog I had captured one fall afternoon.)