Bathhouse

Bathhouse

For Christmas will you get me down

for an appointment at the bathhouse? 

The raptors can nibble the dead bits

inside me, like those Turkish pedicure fish.

The Condor can read the day’s news

while at work, all of us amused

as the vulture sports a squirrel pelt,

talons excising thoughts I repressed.

This location sets the paraffin

on fire, burning away the pain 

of child rearing. We’ll committee

in the steam room with a pepper tea;

I’ll be shiny and new, capsaicin-infused,

ready to deliver a red egg for Barber.