When the percussive tones of the shower start beating
The opera singer begins his warmup.
He’s in full voice
When he reaches the echoey cavern of the bathroom.
The pounding of his fists accompany him
As his voice rises and rises--
An endless aria sung by a tiny tenor.
Finally, his audience of one,
Her wet body mirroring the tears on his cheeks
Sweeps him up,
And calms him with quiet applause.
originally published 1/06
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