Something about water calls them
All of them
Every single one of six.

One let’s hot water flow across his back.
Cheeks red and eyes elsewhere.
As a baby he took alphabet letters
And arranged them to subway lines
He didn’t talk then.
His foam letters screamed out
This is my passion
My longing
He told me, splashing in the water.

Another meticously arranges his ocean animals
Tub ledge, skipping in.
A careful museum collection.

One just floats.
You can’t float in five inches.
He tries.
On his back
Eyes shut tight
Smile broad.

The last three attack together.
Tight pack formation.
Ripping down poofs, emptying shampoo.
Running water, breeching the tubs edge.
Toys on every surface
They push and shove.

At bath time I shout
Release the Kraken!

They haven’t actually killed the bathroom
They try.
Tentacles stretching out.
Searching for weakness.
Their arms and legs in unison on a path of destruction
And delight.