Water factory

Welcome to the water factory–
where you can watch water,
wasted–for free.

Dripping from the counters,
out your eyes,
down your shoulders–

taunting you as
it watches you clean up its mess,
prepared to do it again

–as a toddler does,
with a sharpie, or
a fork and an electrical socket,

but it doesn’t quite leave you
gripping for life
with the same spirit.

The water seeps into
the edges, and all the
wrong places

only to put you afloat
again. Not quite a
yes, but also, not quite a,

“No, no, no” you whisper
as the clean water
hits the dirty floor over and over.

A day will never come
when you won’t be
a rag for your tears.

Maybe a day will
come where
the drip drip drip

come to haunt
you in your sleep,
won’t follow so closely

and you’ll be able
to control the steady,
almost silent, puddling

of clean water,
on a dirty floor
as you try to keep up with it,

viewing it through
foggy vision
and a soggy existence.

Soaking through
a mop, and a towel,
and your sanity

until all that’s left
is a laugh, at the end of a river
absorbed into your skin.



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