Ode to My Shower Beer

Today, I wander my fridge for the cheapest beer I own,

the beer with the taste closest to water (or piss) –

flavors which complement linoleum floors and

shower curtains and fogged mirrors.

~

Today, I sit down on the shower floor (which I know

I have not cleaned) – pressed toes against walls,

water spinning down the drain.

And I crack open this beer – my shower beer.

~

Today, I let the water patter down my face (into my eyes),

onto my shoulders, like I was sitting in rainfall instead.

And for this moment, this cheap beer feels like

Hard-won solitude, precious summertime.

~

Today, I forget decency, forget prudency, forget

the world that exists outside aluminum cans and

wet tile. I fill my mouth with beer and rain.

~

(And sweet, stolen time.)