Drench

The water wouldn't go away.

The tile is cold and turning gray.

I threw the towel on the floor

to stop the puddle at the door.

It drank until it couldn't breathe.

I watched the little bubbles wreathe—

no, they just popped.

The white fabric is heavy now.

It’s a lead weight. A sodden brow.

I tried to lift it to the bin.

The cold slop soaked into my skin.

It smells like hair and old copper.

I’ll just leave it there.

I can't carry it tonight.