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“Drip, Drip, Drip”
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
the kitchen sink’s
nonstop
continual beat
amplified
by an overturned
pan
that was last
used
to make something
with eggs in it,
he just lay
there
undecided
as to which
annoyed
him more
having to get
up
from his
lived in spot
on the sofa
or that unchanging
tone
resonating through
the burnt on
eggs
making him wonder
if the pan
would sound different
clean,
he had already
slept through the
best part of
the morning
taking a nap
less than an
hour after getting
up
in the same
spot
he first sat
down in,
he tilts his
head
which is laying
on the armrest
of the sofa
he can see
the sun spilling
into the room
through a large
picture window
inching it’s way
closer
to his darkened
corner
wishing he could
fall asleep again
before the sun
over runs his
location
forcing him to
make a decision
about what he
was going to
do
with the rest
of the day
a question
he would prefer
just to avoid
altogether,
he returns his
head
to its previous
position
looking straight up
at a bumpy
white ceiling
a view
he has grown
to love
over the last
three months
one he began
getting familiar
with
a week after
losing his job,
cut backs
they told him
as they handed
him
a cardboard box
before escorting
him
to the parking
garage
down below,
that first week
was like a vacation
before the foothold
he had in
reality
began to slip
the little details
of life
became optional
shaving was the
first to go
a new look
he always wanted
to test out
he tried to
convince himself,
but as leaving
the house
and eating
joined the list
he gave up
wasting time
on arguments
as to their
importance
to him
as he did
with the other
things
as they dropped
from their place
in his day
to day
rotation
none of which
he really seemed
to miss
all that much,
he tries to
summon the
strength
to sit up
his muscles
tired
and lethargic
rarely being called
a pond
to do more
than
walk from room
to room,
he gets to a
sitting position
rocks his body
back and forth
using his momentum
to help him
get to his
feet
he walks over
to the kitchen
sink
grabs a gallon
size
Ziploc baggie
and ties it
around
the neck of
the faucet
with a rubber
band
from one of
the many
unread newspapers
piled up
nearby
the back round
bass sound
of the water
hitting the pan
fades from the
stillness
of the room,
he watches the
drip
as it slides
down the side
of the plastic
bag
collecting in it’s
lowest corner
he double checks
his work
before going over
to the big
picture window
and closing the
drapes,
he lowers himself
back down
onto the sofa
his head
once again
looking straight
up,
as he stares
at the bumpy
white ceiling
praying for
some kind of
escape,
from just another
day…
Tom Allen…10-13-2018…
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
the kitchen sink’s
nonstop
continual beat
amplified
by an overturned
pan
that was last
used
to make something
with eggs in it,
he just lay
there
undecided
as to which
annoyed
him more
having to get
up
from his
lived in spot
on the sofa
or that unchanging
tone
resonating through
the burnt on
eggs
making him wonder
if the pan
would sound different
clean,
he had already
slept through the
best part of
the morning
taking a nap
less than an
hour after getting
up
in the same
spot
he first sat
down in,
he tilts his
head
which is laying
on the armrest
of the sofa
he can see
the sun spilling
into the room
through a large
picture window
inching it’s way
closer
to his darkened
corner
wishing he could
fall asleep again
before the sun
over runs his
location
forcing him to
make a decision
about what he
was going to
do
with the rest
of the day
a question
he would prefer
just to avoid
altogether,
he returns his
head
to its previous
position
looking straight up
at a bumpy
white ceiling
a view
he has grown
to love
over the last
three months
one he began
getting familiar
with
a week after
losing his job,
cut backs
they told him
as they handed
him
a cardboard box
before escorting
him
to the parking
garage
down below,
that first week
was like a vacation
before the foothold
he had in
reality
began to slip
the little details
of life
became optional
shaving was the
first to go
a new look
he always wanted
to test out
he tried to
convince himself,
but as leaving
the house
and eating
joined the list
he gave up
wasting time
on arguments
as to their
importance
to him
as he did
with the other
things
as they dropped
from their place
in his day
to day
rotation
none of which
he really seemed
to miss
all that much,
he tries to
summon the
strength
to sit up
his muscles
tired
and lethargic
rarely being called
a pond
to do more
than
walk from room
to room,
he gets to a
sitting position
rocks his body
back and forth
using his momentum
to help him
get to his
feet
he walks over
to the kitchen
sink
grabs a gallon
size
Ziploc baggie
and ties it
around
the neck of
the faucet
with a rubber
band
from one of
the many
unread newspapers
piled up
nearby
the back round
bass sound
of the water
hitting the pan
fades from the
stillness
of the room,
he watches the
drip
as it slides
down the side
of the plastic
bag
collecting in it’s
lowest corner
he double checks
his work
before going over
to the big
picture window
and closing the
drapes,
he lowers himself
back down
onto the sofa
his head
once again
looking straight
up,
as he stares
at the bumpy
white ceiling
praying for
some kind of
escape,
from just another
day…
Tom Allen…10-13-2018…