Washing Up
Among the pipes is one drop of water
Slowly making its way with the rest
I hear its voice clear and strong
In the silence of the pipes:
Don’t let me be the one, it says,
To come up last at the mouth of the faucet
When you finish shaving in the morning.
Don’t let me be the one to be caught last
When you finish washing at night.
I am so tired and I can’t stick any longer
Don’t let me be the one to go it alone
The porcelain is so hard
And such a long drop away.
Allan Appel Born 1946 Chicago, Illinois
© Allan Appel from From 'New Listings' 1974 Inwood Press, New York.
This poem is a terrific example of the latitude poetry allows. You don't have to be a plumber
to put yourself right there in that faucet, and you know there is more to these words than meets the faucet. Thanks Allan!
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