A Dry Wit
Yes, I’m falling from the faucet:
It’s a mighty fine fall.
Whither I’m bound
I don’t much care at all.
I have no hidden agenda,
You can see right thru.
Do I have a purpose?
I haven’t a clue.
I was born in a storm
A long, long time ago.
I’ve no mind for dates.
Don’t ask; I simply don’t know.
Cannot recall the place,
Maybe heading for dry lakes?
Might have been Texas?
Well, that’s the breaks.
Down from the cloud
I plopped onto a hill.
From there over rocks
I found a stream after a rill.
Stream to creek to river
But not the deep blue sea;
Sucked into the municipal intake—
The Fates had other plans for me.
Into a large manmade holding pool,
I was fluoridated and chlorinated,
Which left me all sparkly clean
And a whole lot less opinionated.
Into the city utility pipes
Heading to somewhere via the underground.
Older di-hydrous oxides soon clued me in
When those utility types weren’t around:
I could fall onto the innocent,
Or maybe the perplexed,
No telling where on this good Earth
I’d be falling next.
Maybe on lawns or thirsty park trees;
Rinsing off some shiny new car
Or some poor kid’s skinned knees.
But up, up, and out a faucet
Mixed in with hot-headed steamy types:
I was showering down in a shower!
Can’t complain, I was out of those darn pipes.
But short-lived was my freedom
It was all soon down the drain.
Now icky soapy and dirty
Back into the pipes I went again.
Where to now I cannot say.
I will just have to wait and see,
But I’m hoping for a river
Thence onto the deep blue sea.
So, you be respectful: watch who you call a drip!
But I have to say it’s all been quite the trip.