Mr. Bubble paper box, soggy on the bottom
Die-cut spout like the box of baking soda in the kitchen.
Sparkly afros floating atop the bath water.
Extra bubbles, a treat that require work.
Tan, hairy forearm, the stretchy wristband of his Timex.
One shirt-sleeve rolled up,
On one knee in front of the tub.
Thinning salt-and-pepper hair oily with Vitalis
Rows raked that morning with the teeth of a black plastic comb
Roughing up the water that gushed from the spigot
It was Niagra Falls then.
Agitating only the surface, no need to go deeper.
The sparkling mirrors inside the other sparking mirrors born from the flakes
The frothy cells winked, this is where the fairies lived.
God’s beard adrift in the bathtub.
Too many bubble baths in succession make you itch
In places you shouldn’t scratch in public.
Experiments to determine if a big toe could become stuck in the faucet proved inconclusive.