Poem: water

Last night,
the water was brown

not off white,
not slightly discolored,
brown,
like dark coffee.

It was a strange feeling,
there in the shower,
standing as it pooled,
around the edges of the tub,
wondering,
at what point,
it would start to clear,
and it would be over.

It didn’t clear.

It seemed to get darker,
it seemed to get thicker,
somehow,
standing in it,
didn’t seem like a good idea,
after a while,
sitting on the ledge,
trying to maintain balance,
didn’t either.

So last night,
at around eleven fifty two,
there was the experience,
of bathing from a bowl,
of cold water,
from a bottle.

Somehow,
nothing about this,
felt clean.

Now,
in case there was a concern,
yes,
thoughts of much of humanity,
and their condition,
did float through the mind.

A better concern,
might be,
will anything be done,
for them?

You see,
last night,
the water was brown,
but here,
today,
it’s clear.

But for them,

a better concern,
should come to mind.

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