Poem

I'm not quite sure what has gone down the drain, but it wanted to.

Poem

Down the drain trickles
The water from my mouth as
I spit out soap mixed with
Vermouth. Any cleansing agent
I could use to detox the truth
From my tastebuds.

The sense of hesitation flows
Through porcelain pipes below
Blue Crane plumbing staring
Back at me. I am imagining
The underground tunnel of
Sewer connections waiting
To welcome such thoughts of
Contempt I never dared to utter.

Until I look down the drain.
I can no longer refrain from that
Voice so incessant in my brain who
Is a critic in all of the best and worst ways.
Who knows what is left of relational fields,
When forces too grand to reckon with
Suddenly beckon them to brace,
And the perturbed look on my family’s face
When the silence is broken.

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