by Reese Bentzinger
1:19, I’m watching the scene
in Spirited Away where a creature with a bike
in his back, decay on his breath,
crawls to the bathhouse
he’s got
no name and no eyes, just
two hollow pits begging
for a bath
but they won’t let him in
there’s no way
for him to cry,
but I swear
I see tears welling in his eyes
this trash is so heavy
his plastic-filled mouth tries to choke out
I can’t walk
without getting splinters in my feet, please
I just need a bath
I want them to let him in
though even I can smell him
through the screen, the onions
I chopped the night before for a party
of four
but when I brought my carbonara to the table,
river tar slid from my skin
and put out the candle
my guests made their excuses
and left
behind three empty chairs
so I fashioned three golems, friends
who were really therapists, to whom
I could complain, It’s so heavy
this weight on my back, not to mention
the shift gears creaking in my neck
they responded with loopy smiles, melting
back into the mud from which they came,
and I cried, salt from my eyes
mixing with the earth, pleading
I want to be clean, scrub this dirt
off my back, please
I just need a bath