The Outdoor Shower
He leaves a plastic basket on the outdoor table
my shampoo, supermarket body soap smelling
of tonka bean and vanilla if you will, to wash in
underneath the rainfall showerhead that hangs
just below the upstairs kitchen window, beside
the two large gas cylinders, a bag of fertiliser,
some potting mix and a bag of garden tools
including my beloved one hook wonder weeder
too, there’s an aluminium ladder at the ready
against the mesh covering the clay greywacke.
I stand in togs at the end of our long drive-
way beside the yellow recycle wheelie bin,
next to the smaller red-lidded rubbish bin
and carefully remove my swimsuit, toss it
casually around the corner of the house
to land on the outdoor box from Mitre10
while I soap, soak and susurrate, sing
even, sometimes peeking to ensure no-
one is coming down the drive except
the abundance of ever ripening tiny
tomatoes that dangle un-staked into
the driveway kerb and roll toward me
the towel he left me is hanging
from a steel pipe that used to
hold our kayak paddles and now
has hooks for brush, shovel, broom
my antique cast iron Cambodian
waffle pan with extra long handles
there’s a tiny river of water racing
past the padlocked tin shed where
our electric bikes are safely secured
it runs the full length blending with
clay debris towards the zig zag
my shampoo suds roiling along
maybe to startle someone on
the bush track, who knows
hopefully no one knows I’m
there, bare showering
in the driveway
nothing to see here
© Maggie Rainey-Smith
Maggie Rainey-Smith
The Loch Raven Review 