A bath becomes an almost heroic ordeal in Samuel Hoffenstein’s comic verse from *Poems in Praise of Practically Nothing*. The bather scrubs in cold, punishing water until there is “sans an epidermis,” then feels like “a regular bathing Hermes,” a comically grand self-image. He does not waste a minute, and the tub itself seems to prove how hard he worked. The tone is proud and self-congratulatory, even grand, as the speaker commends this “remarkable abluting.” The speaker’s pride feels genuine, which makes the deflation funnier.
Then the poem pulls the rug out: a day, ten days, or thirty pass, and the blunt answer is “You’re just as dirty!” The humor comes from the mismatch between mock-epic language and an ordinary, repetitive chore. The mood is wry and affectionate, poking fun at how we make small acts feel like triumphs, only for life to undo them almost immediately.