The Shower Tenor
His pitch is perfect.
The liquidity of his voice stronger
than the gushing water,
pressure forcing itself
through the copper pipes,
vibrating like a ball bearing.
A devotional hymn covering the courtyard with steam,
wall papering the darkness with a flowery melody.
How beautiful the water falls,
pitter-patter on the marble,
it gives rhythm to the showering man's song.
Now occupants of silhouetted trees chime in,
an unrelated orchestration
of effort to worship this morning.
Today slowly unfolds
with an overture of lyrics and dawn.
I finish my cigarette and join in with a song of my own making.
It's going to be a beautiful day.
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