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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #1956703
Coaxing my water.
Once in the morn as bones started cracking
it dawned on me I was water lacking.
So to the faucet I went hurriedly,
but there was not any water for me.

Mouth fell wide open like it lost muscle,
(I’m not used to utility tussle).
Turned on the faucet expecting the flow,
but my home waterworks chose to say no.

Checked the cutoff valve below the basin
although I felt it was desperation.
Because there was no one else in the house,
(maybe the culprit was one mighty mouse).

Leaving the loo, I went to the kitchen;
for my water I really was itchin’.
But likewise there was not even a drip,
all signs of water just gave me the slip.

Talked to the plumbing like it would listen;
called water gods as if they would christen
faucet and pipe as a bringer of wet--
despite oration they had no regret.

Beside myself with overnight stubble;
I started tapping looking for trouble.
Tink, tink, tink, tink on the faucet I tapped;
without my water I felt I was trapped.

Then from deep in the maze of plumbing
I discerned a faint metallic drumming.
It was as if consciousness was the pipe,
but it was lead, solder and iron type.

I continued my faucet tap doing;
then, at last, there was water ensuing.
Thus in the morning or after a nap,
to get my water I start with a tap.


32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
10-7-13

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