Down the Drain
Beneath the colourless heavy skies
Is a land awaiting the downfall?
To cleanse the parched soil
To satisfy flora and fauna?
While in the home the kettle boils with rapidity
The tea is sipped dignifiedly gripped by two strong fingers
While the pinkie retreats fearing the heat of the cup.
The bath water is run with force into the bubbly studs
I enter and let the suds seek crevices, nooks and crannies.
I lie back contemplating the source of this cleansing activity
And when the temperature lowers, the foot engages the plug.
The teapot is emptied and the toothpaste swirls away
They assemble, Down the Drain.
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