Sitting on the crapper, Rodinesque,
listening to the water dripping into the
bathtub — drips akin to a kid learning his second note
on the bongos — and the drip moderator,
which sends potassium chloride solution
through the tube (which prevents me from enjoying
said tub) into my arm — the drip moderator,
I say, sighing itself like the orgasmic coffee percolator
we had so many years ago, and I’m observing
the five-legged base of the thing, which I had
to drag in here attached as I am to it,
the five legs reminding me that a
man is a five-legged woman without a leg
to stand on in an argument with her, and
I notice that on the one leg, somebody has
used a magic marker to note that this
machine is 5N for fifth floor north, our present
location, but the N is slanted, looks like
lightning, and it all makes some kind of
cockeyed sense.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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