The bathtub,
                & the dog, rolling thunder.
        Both of us as content as bachelors.
                Me & the dog, that is.
Me & the dog, quaking in our boots
about the storm outside.

        & I think I might write about
                the window, smashing sober.
                The glass, scattering on tiles.
The dog would probably lose her shit.
I would probably lose my shit.
                        But I just stick to it—

        my hair, today, a river,
                my hair, last week—an open flame.
        I ask the dog for her opinion but all she gives me
                is more introspection.
More lightning, flashing teeth. More bathwater,
        stagnant. My legs water board.

                My legs hydroplane.
                Downright piratical.
        The dog, a jolly roger.
                The faucet, a skull & cross bones.
& the dog, rolling thunder. We
        both long to scamper from the room,

                to take refuge under mattresses,
        maybe under blankets to
chew on a bone or perhaps read one thousand novel pages.
        Cover one eye.
                Let the dog bark her heart out—
        nature fearing nature.

                        Human avoiding the hallway.