The Loofah of Unhappiness
This tangle of hardness
surrounds fine, empty spaces,
into a shape. It does not care.
It climbs into space, three chimneys
that exude no smoke, caked with no soot
that has never seen fire. It does not hate
nor eat. Vacant, it never starves.
I look at the shower head weeping.
Here in my nakedness, I am revealed.
In the squall of hot water, I grab the grief,
soap my body and scrub, hard, to reveal new skin.
© Martin Porter 2015
Why write about a loofah, of all things! Not because it is a good subject, or because it appeals to readers, and certainly not because it makes for a good exercise. This poem, an exercise response, looks at an ordinary object as an object of interest and as an expression of feeling. It may not be the most challenging poem to read, or write, but it turned out to be more reflective than anticipated.