Bathroom by Amy Acre


I’m sitting on the closed lid of the toilet replying to messages 
my daughter is in the bath drinking bath water using upturned 
Lego pieces as cups which she is double fisting
I am ignoring her to write this poem which I am writing to avoid 
replying to friends I first messaged to try and keep up with 
only to get replies which demand more replies and the nightmare continues
I am writing to avoid my total lack of velvet or capsule wardrobe 
my memeless empty mouth roof how at my core I am a seaplane taking off for nowhere Kim Kardashian in the passenger seat and the pilot 
is the inflatable autopilot from Airplane! my daughter is submerging 
and rescuing a plastic octopus slide over and over and she runs 
to the bottom of the staircase when I walk down it and shouts ‘hooray!’ 
but one day she will understand that I am a dry blank bathroom 
a driverless vehicle she will know and there will be nothing I can do about it

Amy Acre is the editor of Bad Betty Press, and the author of two pamphlets: And They Are Covered in Gold Light and Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Roads, each chosen as a PBS Pamphlet Choice.

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