The water in the basin is cold

The water in the basin is cold.

I’m gripping the foam until it’s flat,

watching the yellow skin get old

and wrinkled where the soap sat.

I squeeze it out and watch it swell,

taking back the shape it had before.

It’s a hollow, porous kind of hell

waiting for the water to pour.

The green scrubby side is frayed and thin,

just a few loose threads of plastic

where the grease has managed to win.

It feels brittle and rough on my skin.