Written on Check No. 62566
Everyday Ego-Death
By Wayne TatePublished 6 years ago • 1 min read
Like
Share
this morning i was
scrubbing shampoo into my hair
and squeaking clean my ears
with my pointer fingers —
still half asleep,
living in the dream
i had just been enjoying
of an ex-lover fondling me —
when i looked down at the tiled floor
and at the brink of my big toe
was a puddle of white lather
slow to slither down the drain,
and i saw a mushroom cloud
down there below my feet
made by the products of So-and-So Inc.
and the dead head molecules of myself,
and it made me smile
and laugh a little,
thinking that, indeed,
i am dying more with each shower,
me being recycled back into the world.
i washed the soap away,
dried off with a devious smile,
and went to work
to die some more.
Like
Share
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.