Head plunged beneath the smallest lake
Suspended in an acrylic tub,
The warm lathered water,
Womb-like in comfort and familiarity,
Allows the briefest reflection and realisation
On how this very same room
Once offered me tranquility
And on how, earlier today,
In this very same room some thirty years later,
I bathed my own infant son in tranquility.

There were often times,
As I laid in that same bath tub,
When I pondered on my future
Wondered, in intervals of 10,
What life would be,
What skill I did not possess
Might dictate my future?
The joke being, I held no special talent,
No self-belief that any talent would emerge,
And so, my hopes were never high!

Memories aren't what they used to be.
A sunny spin on what happened to me
Hid the truth of pain
From which there was no gain
Other than the mastery of denial
That kept me going for a while
Until delayed maturity helped me realise
That we all work so hard to idealise
Those excitingly messy parts of life
That cut a thousand painless cuts.

As she talked of her past
So too she talked of her future
For fate ricochets endlessly
Through the tunnel of her narrative:
A sorry tale told of a trapped soul
Yearning in vain for an escape
As elusive as it is seductive.