The Green Tap
How green and stained it is now.
Before, it was all shiny in its gold coloring.
One would easily mistake it for a treasure, ill-placed.
Often, on rather cold nights,
When I find myself pressed with the inevitability of having to bathe,
Gripping that once gold colored handle of the tap leaves me
Albeit, pertrified of the cold water gushing from its relentless mouth.
The cessation lasts only till,
The actual water comes out and shocks me;
Back to the world of reality!
I make haste with my bath and reach for my towel.
The draft from the door I slovenly left ajar,
Appears to be in cahoots with the green stained tap,
On a quest to freeze me to the bone
As I dry up and don my attire
I turn around with a smirk
To take one last look at the tap, the dreaded tap
Only to see it gloat with a cognitive sense of:
“you’ll be back in the morning”