Rough Spots

Under the shower spray, I found it.

That grey, rough stone, worn smooth in parts.

Rubbing hard, to make the rough heel fit

a softer skin, breaking it into darts.

That grainy surface, wet and cold, it scraped.

A faint white dust, washed down the drain.

Trying to smooth out what time had shaped,

a quiet effort, pushing past the pain.

And I thought about other rough spots, deeper down.

Things you can’t scrub clean, or sand away.

Just the slow, grinding effort in this town.

Another day, another rough patch to betray.