From the fever of the bath
I see a dolphin in the tiles.
For sure, a shadow.
Was it there when I stabbed the surface?
Has it come to attend?
With what intent?
Is it a friend?
Chummy creature.
Not a hippo, nor a poodle.
My puddle shifts into a pond.
I squash a bomb.
My thalassic tub features forget-me-nots.
I dunk my head into the current;
switching gears.
I’m drinking from the inlet.
Forty seconds, then I leap.
I lean back,
enjoy the drought.
No more dolphin in the tiles.