Tin bath

Tin baths have private lives,
they see our secrets.
Unable to tell any tales,
guardians to our modesty.

It is not our expectation
that they keep our naked secrets,
our shaved legs, our hairy bums.
Or appreciate their singing silence.

The tin baths, all but forgotten,
their whispering voices
merely the pit pattering of rain drops,
Untranslated.