I was in a shower in the Buena Vista Hotel
standing under my father’s penis,
the long flesh over another pouch of flesh
that was surrounded by hair,
the soap and hot water running onto me in rivulets.
It was so unlike my mother’s body,
the one I knew better,
the one that released me
only because it was my time.
She used to take me into her bath
while the tub was still filling
and the warm water enveloped us,
sealing off the rest of the world.