SHOWER

I.

I sit staring out the window.

Clouds sweep and scrape

over the moon moving fast,

its shape constantly altered,

and there are nine red lights

around and under it.

I count them twice to make sure.

Satellites, maybe a hospital

under construction, if I recall.

The sea is out of sight as I sit low

in this old chair, but I know it’s there.

And that’s something.

The window rattles as the people

living above me fuck and I’m glad that

at least they’re having a good time,

even if it’s just because they’re bored –

everyone is bored and I debate

having a shower but I don’t feel like getting wet.

I just want that post-shower feeling,

and then what?

I’d probably just sit here again

in this old chair and the sky

will be darker, the moon

a different shape, but those same

nine red lights, and right now

the moon is gone and a seagull flies by –

I feel afraid, there’s so much chaos out there,

even more than usual, and I’m happy

to be safe even if alone, because I don’t

want to be out there.

It’s so bad and getting worse,

but none of that in here.

None of it.

Here I can just watch it from afar

fear it

and

ponder it

but I don’t have to face it.

I can just sit, at ease, quietly debating

whether I should or shouldn’t

have a shower.

II.

The moon looks happy somehow –

it has no face because life is no cartoon

(visually speaking)

but something about the moon

makes it seem like if it did

have a face

it would be smiling.

An aura of pleasure, or even joy.

Moonish joy.

Above the moon there is a giant

penguin cloud, and the penguin cloud looks like

it’s reaching for something, past the moon,

in the shadowy distance, and I wonder

what it might be.

And now the moon isn’t smiling,

and I wait, and now the moon is gone,

completely, no moon at all,

and the penguin isn’t even a

penguin anymore, and it seems like

all dreams have died –

there are just things now floating around,

things that don’t make any sense,

although for a while now

I have known that sense

is not what we once thought or think.

So maybe the penguin just evolved

beyond my comprehension

and the moon is right there

still as it was, perhaps even brighter,

smiling harder than

it has all night.

III.

In the end, I decided to have

the fucking shower

and never wanted to get out,

but I remembered the planet

and got out suddenly,

and yes, the post-shower feeling is

everything I wanted it to be,

amazing and sensational

and other words like that

even if everything else

is fucked,

and I guess,

above all,

that, right there,

is the real

fucking

problem.

by Maté Jare

Maté Jarai is from Budapest, Hungary, and now lives in Brighton, UK. He's the author of three poetry collections, 'If We Open Our Eyes The Floods Won't End So Let's Not Do That,' 'Instrumentals,' and Live Authentic Die Far Away,'  He has a PhD in Creative Writing from Southampton University and is Founder/Editor-in-Chief of Cephalopress. For more of his writing check out www.iamwendle.com. Follow him on twitter and instagram @matejarai