The Tub, ca. 1889
Edgar Degas
Sultry sloe eyed scintillating
Of lavender and lilacs
Glancing over a bare white shoulder
More than beauty she is sublime
Her quarry half her years
She captured in the greasy nightclub
Now waiting in the dirty old bed
Running water pours
Vanilla and almonds
From under the door
He dreams of satin smooth breasts
Plump round buttocks
And a flowery forest
He waits a cruel unforgiving
Waiting in minutes like hours
While behind the heavy door
She in her holy shrine
Splishing splashing cheerfully singing
He wishes he were the warm water
Running all around her
Touching and feeling every inch
Every pore every atom every all
Wishing waiting dreaming
As the symphony of water pours on
Stop!
Listen----
Watery music is broken by silence
Bridged by peace and quiet
An anxious ear presses the door
It recoils at sudden unspeakable foulness of
Great gurglings and garglings
and ferocious hockings and spittings
conjuring from the other side
--ibid and ibid it went
He retreated to the bed
The horrors from her hidden shrine
gave way to a sweet serenity—
That flew off like a frightened sparrow
As earth quaking
soul shaking
foul explosions
Amplified by her porcelain throne
Farted out in an avalanche
Once, twice, three times
She flushed
He gagged
His heart then filled with terror
As a frantic tiny screaming
Came up beside him
from the dusty nightstand
a fly was shrieking and wriggling
against a sticky web strung to the bed
as a furry brown spider closed in
standing seeing
eyes wide open now
no longer shrouded by lust
they dart through the room
his soul heaves in nausea--
at the greasy chicken bones
dead flies on window sill
roach carcasses in dusty corners
cobwebs broken chair moldy carpet dirty dishes
grimy sheets and pillows
one naked light bulb hanging above it all
A door opens
Another opened
A long leg poked out
Did a burlesque
Paused retreated
Her beautiful face wearing a question mark
Peeked out from the doorway and frowning
She nudely marched in to an empty room.
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