Shower Mold
Bianca McCarty
The Voices in the Drain | Taylor Lech | Drawing/Illustration
When Sarah pours Drain-O
down the shower drain,
I wish I could open up my mouth
and let the viscous liquid slide down my throat,
to my stomach and intestines,
until every inch of my digestive tract
is cleared of gunk.
We’ve got a j-pipe,
the maintenance man said our first week.
I want him to pipe me, and Sarah laughs.
Shower with the door open,
steam dissipating,
moisture seeping into the walls:
The Frog State.
Alabama-Mississippi humidity,
water retention
as my father’s organs rust,
and I am a cold fingered anemic.
But I retain,
grow mold in the ridges of my small intestine.
Pass the Drain-O, Sarah.