The Ritual of the Bath

(sometimes, in a quest for the “art of the mundane”, one misses the art and is left with the mundane, I hope I have not done so here)

 

I open the shower door

and turn on the water,

then step back while it warms

and remove the fluffy white towel from its hook.

 

I add paste to my toothbrush,

its little motor whirring against my teeth as I reenter the water.

Always in order,

as if I might forget and in fact, I have.

 

I rinse my mouth, in one motion,

set the toothbrush next to the large Suave shampoo

and flip the cap open and the bottle over to squeeze enough and set the bottle back,

thumbing the cap closed as I massage my hair into a froth of soapiness,

all this while facing the shower,

now turn and rinse,

face downturned as the shampoo rolls down my head until the water is clear,

observe the drain, still no hair, thankfully,

now the soap, front to back, top to bottom,

as if I might forget a shoulder or lower back,

with a half squat I soap my thighs front and back then I lift first my left foot,

then right, soapy hands on the soles and calves,

re-soap the fingers for the toes,

interlocking toes and fingers

like mishappened praying hands,

then the razor,

or more the can of lather rubbed thickly on my face,

and the plastic razor,

dabbed gently into my palm still full of cream,

first under my nose downward and then downward around from right ear to left,

then up,

every inch of face and neck at last sloping crossways

to follow the chin line and below,

still sideways on the neck,

and rinse,

and rinse the razor and my hand full of cream,

 

 

water off, out the steamy glass door

to the fluffy towel and the cold bathroom air.

 

When I was young we lived up north,

the bathroom would be warm and muggy,

but this is Florida, so the air is always on,

cold and wet I dry, in the same pattern I washed,

looking in the room-wide mirror at the fat naked man.

I observe he looks the same as the day before

and raise one arm high,

rub Old Spice on the armpits that used to be young

but are no longer, then the other arm.

 

I clean my ears with cotton swabs in a manner

strictly forbidden on the package,

and wonder if others do or do not follow

the directions for safe ear care

and wonder if I am old enough

to need my ear hair trimmed,

then I brush back my still mostly brown,

still mostly full head of hair

and wonder if my wife will tell me

when I get a bald spot,

on with clean dry shirt and underwear,

I wonder through the bedroom and out to the kitchen

to refill my coffee and the bath is over until tomorrow.