Wet

There was a moth
In the shower.
Flitting around
Before resting
In the window.
Waiting, I imagine,
For her wings to dry.

She was pretty in her natural browns.
A dressed down butterfly.

She's been here a few days.
Not sure why she would choose
This room
As her home.
Maybe she found the small space cozy,
Or perhaps she stayed
For the friend she saw in the mirror.

She was gone when I looked back.
It saddened me to think
She could now be
Circling the drain.

There was nothing there
When I looked down.

Nothing but the falling water
And the creepy penguins
On the shower curtain
Staring with their
Wide blank eyes
At my wet skin.

I wondered where a moth could go
In a small room
Such as this
With wet wings,

But that is all the thought
I gave to the moth.