This poem is based on Background.
Nightmare Where Your Bathroom Is Native America 5/12
You make faces at yourself - pilgrims fall from your ears
land on the counter they run for the toothpaste and use it like a cannon
shooting the striped unsolid at you
One circles the drain his little pilgrim shoes too slick to gain traction
you may help him but you are being attacked with toothbrush and soap
he is gone before you notice but the others have armed themselves