Baby In The Bathwater Poem by Oscar Mireles

When my son Sergio takes a bath,
The water is never still.
He thinks that he is in
a fishbowl, and dives
underneath the rim of the
bathtub.

After the warm bath
water reaches flood level stages,
we turn off the faucet.
He lies on his back,
two ears tucked down
below the surface of the water.

He asks that I wash his feet.
He throws them both
towards the direction of my face.
They are so small, like a bar of hotel soap.
His toes are attached to his feet,
five little beads of pearls.

He sticks out his hand
and I pour several drops of shampoo.
He throws it in
the air and then laughs.

And come to think of it,
I almost forgot
what it was like
to take a bath.