All This And Hot Water, Too

by Michael Hardin

I opened the window
before washing my hair today,
whether from curiosity
or experiment
I don't know.
I rubbed my scalp
under that prevailing stream
while the cold wind
that blew in from
the North Pole
rubbed my back
in the presence of
the hissing radiator.
It reminded me of
early cold mornings
when out-of-doors
the smell of frying bacon,
the sunrise through the trees,
cold concrete under wet feet,
air and shower merged
in the presence of bursting flame.
I laughed at this
cold whip on my back.
I laughed because I knew
that close the windowI could, if I wanted,
but the memories had been transformed for me.
So if I am getting older
now washing my hair in the sink
it can only mean that,
at last, I am listening to life;
All this, and hot water, too.