These are the times I hate.

When I remember
I need to tell her
Something very urgent
If not told this moment
Might never be said
But at that hour
I’m at the shower
And my holler can’t breach
To be in her ear’s reach!

It’s still less fun
When they come
Not just one
But three four five
Ready to be told ripe
But in that ******* hour
I’m right at the shower
Needing immediately to tell her
What I might not again remember!

Not one from the to be said I can save
See them washed out to watery grave
No mind hammering could ever retrieve
Their loss that I'm left to bereave!

There’s no second chance for all of them
Terribly important but dying unnamed
With the toweled wetness they too evaporate
My thoughts at the shower at that hour I hate!