THURSDAY: Calling in the Plumber


Copyright is held by the author.

What good is poetry
when a pipe is leaking,
the toilet’s backed up,
and the shower is as cold as . . .
            as a cold shower.

Poetry only thinks
it can immerse itself
in grunginess.
At least, the kind of muck
that congeals in the drain.

To poetry,
human waste
has myriad connotations.
To the expert
with the snake and plunger,
it has only one meaning,
and a distinctively putrid odor.

With pipe wrench, flaring pliers,
he’s the Sherlock Holmes
who solves., again and again,
that great mystery of how things work.

Like any genius
of life’s inner workings,
I leave him be.
And avoid conversation.
I’ve no wish for the subject
to pivot on what I do.
            Assonance, alliteration and metonymy.
            There’s a reason they’re not in the yellow pages.

1 comment
  1. Love it

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