A Newlywed's Lament

Elixers, emulsions, powders and lotions, spread on the counter like a fleet on an ocean. It’s those bathroom battles that I still see, ground that was lost, or a quiet victory. A bloodless conflict, I must concede, But battle lines drawn in a battle indeed. We circle each other like birds of prey, thinking of that explosive day that we both know will come with a great thrill when like raptors we swoop in for the kill. For space to be had that doesn’t exist, ironies aplenty, it’s life with a twist. Irons and curlers and blow dryers too, for goodness sake, what’s a man supposed to do? At every visit I eyeball the hair that grows by the day, stuck to the “Skin Care.” Things wadded up in the waste basket, oft overflowing like a yawning casket. A place for dead things, unmentionables too, then I think of my vows when I said “I love you”. If a couple survives bathroom things, chances are good they’ll keep wearing their rings. But half of that space should be for the groom, for heaven's sake, I too need room.