Life. It [Continues]

I'll tell you. This one is okay. It's about good.
It's about mornings when I wake up and I'm all alone.
When I streak across the apartment and nose dive into the bathroom.
To shower of course.
Today, I nod and smile to the shampoo foam when it comes down my head,
It covers my eyes a little bit and I just let it
Work its stuff
Until the drain beckons and it gets moving on down past my avenues and I watch it fall down
All the way down
To the swirly area of the tub where many shampoos have collected and been sucked down
All the way down
To live a life inside the pipes and meet up with all the things that have also been sucked down
I think, good thing I'm not shampoo because when I get out of the shower I go, "whew"
I like being a person.
I can walk and I can talk. I can eat blueberrys and I can smell like green shampoo
I can open windows
I can brew coffee
I can sit on a microwave, turn it on for 30 seconds and let the radioactive heat generate enough warmth to soothe my muscles, dry my legs, and cook a chicken.
There's an invigoration in the solitude.
There's a voice in the rain.
There's also me. Did I mention there was me?
I may be all alone in the apartment
And I may have nothing better to do than shower
Play with shampoo
Drink coffee and fantasize about blueberrys, microwaves, and chicken
But I tell you.
There's something about a murky morning
And a lot of wet rain
That drys out my hair, makes me poof it, and go oh yes.
There is a voice in the rain.