Friday, July 23, 2010

Pumping Water

Pumping Water

Separate buses, but the same stops.
Yours the grade threes. Mine the fours.
The clamor.
We spilled out

between somewhere and other, sweating.
Thing is, right now it is all more real

Your kids surrounded you while mine
ran amok. Always in control, you.
Slapdash, my grade fours were rabid!

Unprepared slavering beasts
to your styrofoam cup-holding charges
drinking in satiated blasts.

than it was then. Me, wondering
for twenty years now...

Morning light is falling upon the shut eyes
once fixed upon a broken pump-handle.

the last word of your unfinished sentence
"Piece of ____."

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2010

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