Uninvited

The caulk has a gap near the edge of the drain,

where the water collects like a slow, steady rain.

And there in the corner, a stranger has taken

a seat in the dampness, silent and unshaken.

A mushroom is pushing its way through the white,

a pale, fleshy ghost in the bathroom light.

It looks like a lung that was dropped by mistake,

waiting for one more small breath to take.

I should have scrubbed harder or fixed up the leak,

but I watched it grow for the whole of the week.

It’s soft and it’s wrong, a life out of place,

claiming its share of my porcelain space.