What the Medicine Cabinet Said Poem by T. J. Anderson III

Devonte, think of it this way
that the faces of gods

are hidden in the bathroom orchids.

Believe you me I've seen them

silently whispering through the shampoo smoke

the aftershave offerings

that waft over our lady of the toilet

above the hydrogenous fissures we mistake for mouths
above the hand that trembles

before unscrewing the aspirin host
above the mouthwash
with its undeniable

periwinkle for cleanliness
the commode gods are staring.

They are contemplating
your next awkward preamble.

They are waiting
to pounce forth from
the moan and sway
of your bowels,
eat away at you like
maggots devouring flesh.