Another Poem Which I Have Written

Stanching the Flow

Today, I performed an experiment.

I sent a bucket down

and then pulled it back up.

It was as I feared:

the bucket was dry.

I had been feeling it for weeks, you know:

brushing my teeth, I would bite down on grit

or washing my hands, I’d have to wipe off a layer of slime.

The soup tasted decayed

and when I boiled noodles

they would turn an unpleasant grey color.

I had no idea, though, that the well was dry.

Naturally, I have to figure something out now;

how will I brush my teeth,

wash my hands

make soup

boil noodles?

I assumed the flow would never stop.

I had taken it for granted I would always be able to

DREDGE

up something, even if I scraped the bottom.

What do I do now?

What dynamite can blast loose

the clog within my well?

This could cause some serious problems for my publisher.

Long live poesy!