Xanthippe Poem by Christine K. Trease

Returning from her late-night class, she draws a bath
and slinks into its embryonic therapy.
His washcloth hangs tauntingly on the tub rack,
now frigid, slapping at her side with her every movement.
Tired from far too many hours,
his idiosyncrasies tend to annoy her.
She realizes what an attribute he has been to her life
and her animosity swiftly subsides.
A stifled trivia program plays in the background
through the adjacent wall.
She lays back into the warmth of the waters,
safely reclined from the possibility
of coming in contact with the annoying washcloth,
shutting her eyes once more as she listens studiously
to the questions and plays along.
How pitiful her life has become when a seeming highpoint is
to hear the trivia program playing on the television from
the comfort of her bath at a truly indecent hour of the evening.
Maybe this is one reason that knowing the answers is so
imperative to her. It means that her life has not been in vain.