Liner

The bulb went with a sharp, dry pop

leaving the room in a state of slate.

I stood in the steam and felt the drop

of the temperature like a heavy weight.

The curtain is a cheap, thin skin

printed with shells that have lost their pink.

A bloom of black mildew is moving in

around the hem near the drain's cold brink.

It clusters like a coast on a paper map

of some humid place I used to know.

The vinyl clings in a wet, cold trap

against my leg while the gray winds blow.