Poetry

Waterworks

Rinsing my emotions down the drain

is like convincing Thor to put down his hammer.

I’ll do it

reluctantly and sometimes violently,

turning the tap on fully so that water spits

at full pressure,

thunderous as a barbaric yawp;

 

it washes away everything

before I have a chance to reconsider.

 

I’m left as the soulless husk

they want me to be,

ready for the day’s reprogramming

to begin.

Poetry

Phone line

I ask you where your eyes

find light – your mouth

falls down the back wall

to the receiver, hanging

limp by its cord, mumbling

love and family like trickles of water

flowing into a drain. Not

a downpour. Perhaps

I should have asked

a different question.

One that you’re more comfortable with?