Raymond Chandler Scrubbing the Tub

I get down on my hands and knees
like a whore on Sunset
after the price has been agreed on.

I put my brush down and try to scrub
the yellow of an old man’s teeth off the porcelain.
It’s a debt that isn’t easy to pay and I curse
myself for not doing this last week.

Non-slip shower flowers are always in bloom,
must be the all the rain they get.
The only pollen they produce is
a bunch of tiny black bits of leftover
soap and grime and skin and God only knows what else.

Despite the constant motion the brush looks
about as bored as I am.
It decides to take a break by kicking a piece
of foam up into my eye.

A string of profanities leave my mouth as
I stumble to my feet and towards the sink.
A quick look in the mirror and I see Popeye
looking back. I splash some water into my face.

Despite the pain, I get back down on my hands and knees
again, like the whore on Sunset, I finish the job.

I rinse out the tub with the shower. It looks
a little better. The wife comes in and looks up
and down like a mortician examining a corpse.

“You missed a spot”
She walks out the door.