Graffiti, Diffusing in Soup

To begin with, what’s in a bath? Everything.
Even the setting could/should/would be elsewhere

toes tickling the air in a fantasy of heated clouds
laughing from just being there – a moment please.

Apparently wee free folk share the space, linger
in dalliance because your head is nodding off

the white cliffs. Anything you’d want to say drowns
in the heat… the simmering malingering of it all.

Slink like a selkie, live in the skin, hold your head
high enough to disenfranchise worrying aspects.

Let headlines rise up the screen, drift into mist;
they’ll be next year’s logistical nightmares caught

in the dark net. It isn’t wise to associate with them;
they are sharks in the black council’s film noir.