Tuesday, February 26, 2019

While Supplies Last




















When I was a child my father
Would beg us:
“Girls, turn off the tap,”
claiming supplies of clean water were limited.
“Think of future generations,” he’d tell us.
“Your children. Their children.”

“But all that rain. . . ” we’d protest. . .
“A world full of oceans. . . ”
We couldn’t possibly imagine this
truth.

Now,
I stare at dirty keys,
this blank screen,
my mind troubled,
my minor thoughts
bland and
fleeting.

I write nothing.
The dog woofs, bored, at the window.

What if words
like tap water, like
clean air
actually do
run

?