I watch the cat drinking
from the flower pot tray,
filled to the rim with rain water.
He bores as quickly with that
as all his pursuits ‑
or merely satisfies his thirst.
Women used to collect rain water
to shampoo their hair.
Do they still do that?
I spent the night once
with a girl from school,
whose beauty trick was to soap the face,
then go outside in the crisp morning
air for it to dry.
Three daughters, the older one a friend
of my sister’s named Barbara,
lined up on the back porch,
giggling, expectant.


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