Ballad of An Open Drain

Pulling back the curtain and wading through a cloud of steam. I may not be certain but in the sink there seems To be a black smudge that can move on its own. Drying myself with a mildew laden towel my certainty has grown. I know who he is. Waiting for a morning sip. Myriad drops of water pierced by his fang’s tip. Approaching the basin with trepidation. We know this cannot last. I cannot brush my teeth within this creature’s grasp. Admiring his decorative abdomen. Which resembles a zulu mask. I grab a wad of toilet paper to help me in my task. First I’ll run some water to see if he will slide down the drain to “freedom.” Hope as he begins to glide. Yet of course his minute claws can grab ahold of the drain. To prevent a full collapse and increase my emotional pain. For we’ve reached the endpoint and I have to leave for work. Why should his life be less than mine? His people were here first. But that’s not how this goes. My human size and might crush his skeleton like paper and flush him out of sight.