Eeksy-Peeksy

augury doggerel

Saturday, January 05, 2002

Pipes

I sing in the shower. The last few mornings, I've been humming and ooing bits of Elgar's cello concerto. It's wintry and forlorn like morning now. But more often, I sing songs seeped in from years ago, bits of lonely old ballads that come with the warm water.

Beneath me, and I don't mean anything sociological in that, but directly beneath me when I'm in the shower, are the women who tend the buildings in the area from their little basement headquarters under our apartment. I have only peeked into their burrow, but I know they're in there very early sipping coffee and warming hands and feet before going back out to shovel walks or scatter sand or locate leaks in some dripping dark. I hear their door open and close. I see them come and go. They wear big coats and hats and boots.

And I am just over them every morning, naked, pink, scalded, wet, soapy, a tuneful moose calling through the pipes that spin all my sleep away.

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