Leg held like a bird's, soapy,
The roar of water in her ears, suddenly calm,
Blade poised, she requests strength;
Black lines sprinkle nauseous on the corrupted foam,
Flesh, clean and smooth, writes a new pink stripe.
Dad swims before her, nineteen years ago,
The water swirls: voiceless she shouts
But his grey hair and pale lips do not hear.
Another stroke - like coal dust in the lungs -
Unrecognizable thick hair.
Another stroke.
Her knuckles are wrinkled as an old penis;
Outside through uneven glass, distorted,
Grey pigeons, which make her retch, cluck and coo.
Naked, her legs half-shaved, her father's open mouth hanging impossibly,
Her hands cold and wet against the china of the basin.
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