Grown Man, Crying

In the claw foot
tub running over,
his purple corona bobs
like a bell-shaped buoy
in the white-capped
suds,

he hums and scrubs
peppermint soap into
tingling scalp, sheepishly smiling,
watching her do up the lacy black
garter snaps

with one stiletto heel hitched high
on the toilet tank top, and a long strand
of raven hair balanced on the bridge
of her nose. When she blows

the bang, exasperated, across
her brow, saying “What did I tell you
about putting the seat down, Calvin?”