When first I was told I had become a man, I was both happy and sad. I was happy that I would no longer run errands. I was sad that baths with my mum no longer existed. When she told me I should keep my undergarment on, I knew I had grown hairy and physical. Thirty years later, as I welcome my death, I recall when she used to ask what I’d learnt in school, Not taking heed of nudity and soap. We would gossip and celebrate health, As the water changed mood, from hot to cold, From cold to hot.