Musing

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.