Controlling the Bath Temperature with your Toes

I look at two silver eyebrows. The left one is hot. The right one is cold. A tarnished snout juts out and below it there's an abyss. In my left foot there’s Jupiter. The right holds Plato. In the tub the whole body is given to dramas. The first act mocks Copernicus (it was written by a Pole). The second act begins slowly; the workers are divided and their revolution is failing. The third act lingers; a port city on the coast of Spain has been raided by Celts.  The carts are empty and the fishermen sit idly in their boats, looking at the shopkeepers.  There is snow on the ground, which is unusual for that time of year.  The moon is out. The curtains close. I’ve barely had time to clap before I’m roused by a stern knock on the door.  The water is overflowing.  A voice asks, “What are you doing?  I stand in a panic.  The water recedes and I notice for the first time that it is cold.