Yes, I know, I’m running a bit late here. I had the idea for this on Saturday (and to me it’s still Sunday night, as I have not yet gone to bed), but working at the Station went late so here it is. I’ll hopefully be back on track after classes tomorrow.
Here is Day 3 of my attempt to follow the Napowrimo challenge of a poem a day during April, National Poetry month here in the US of A.
The Secret to My Youth
In the morning, before I’ve said a word
to the world, I shower in it; Hot black
jets of coffee from the faucet scald
my skin, steam my pores open.
The scent of the bean in my nostrils,
the caffine cleaning fog from between
my ears, rivulets racing in muddy
streams at my feet, purging the dirt
and years from my very being.
At night I chose to bathe intstead.
I fill the tub with bottles of red.
Usually merlot, but cabernet
on a bad day, or pinot noir
if I’m feeling soft and romantic.
And I sink in the bath to my nose,
I swirl and examine legs against
the porcelain, strong and supple,
a fresh, young vintage, best sipped
now in its prime. No sense in aging
it anymore than myself. I like my vintage.
Inbeween these day and night routines
I excercise, running fifteen miles a day
sometimes, but never more than an hour
in the gym. Life is too short to waist
doing squats. Better to swim rivers,
climb mountains, hike forests and paddle
up streams. I drink water, gallons of the stuff.
And though I nap long hours in the sun,
I never forget to moisturize, slathering on
lotions and creams by the case.
This is why I never age.
This, and perhaps the dreams
that I allow when the red wine bath
slows me down and sinks
me comfortably into sleep. I dream
of fruit, of vines lining hills
in the sun, ripening and dreaming
of the day they will be red as blood,
full of life, filling my tub. And if
the dreams should ever go bad
as good wines sometimes do,
the way to cleanse my soul of them
is in that shower of java. It’s
not the morning light that fights
the darkness off, for the sun
throws long shadows. No, fight
fire with fire they say, so cleanse
the darkness with the blackest,
hotest brew you can, and let
it course over you, let the dark
liquid carry the bitter memory
of those bad dreams away
and swirl them down the drain.