Soap

I knew they were old
because they still bought soap
in pink bricks;
it sat in a chromium dish
shaped like a clam's top jaw
ripped clean
off.
I imagined
the flamingo head
of a dispenser
repulsing them;
peach and lemongrass
aching through their digits
like egg white.
I imagined him barefoot
creeping through her snores
to rub soap on his heels
and each time
his shadow flying loose
like a sheet.