The fluorescent tubes are humming overhead

The fluorescent tubes are humming overhead,

a buzzing that I feel behind my eyes.

I’m looking for a way to wash the bed,

but forty different colors start to rise.

Blue jugs of Spring and yellow jugs of Tide,

the smell of fake lavender is a thick,

suffocating wave I cannot hide

until the linoleum starts to feel too slick.

I grab the handle of the metal cart

and wait for the horizon to stop its spin.

It’s just a soap. It shouldn't break a heart.

It shouldn't let the world come rushing in.