The Shower

by Carolyn Lawrence | 2008

I am not clean

ten days on the rails, and I am

soiled, stained

contaminated

I offer my clothes in exchange

for a shower, hot water

and a pad of lye to scrub myself

Careless they are with my belongings

piling them high, on top of the others

when we had laid them out, carefully

so we would know which ones were ours

I didn't object to the women

naked beside me, waiting for their turn

to get clean

-ten days on the rail and humility

vanishes-

the night air prickled my skin

as I followed the naked

into the dark,

again

in tongues, the prophet spoke

achtung

the sign, neon against the unforgiving cement

achtung it screamed, achtung

what is achtung?

the whisper echoed like a thunderclap

reverberating in the dimness against walls

that kept their secrets airtight

It must mean shower

It might mean death

I am not clean

ten days on the rail

and gladly

they offered me a shower

and as the heavy creak of metal shut the last bit

of dawn out

I asked

how will I know which are my shoes

when I am clean

if you pile them as such

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