Who left the water
running in the bathtub?
It reached the porcelain edge,
cascaded like a waterfall
onto a blue loop mat, then
skimmed over glazed tile
and under the door into a hallway.
Streams of water, unattended,
free of restraint, slithered down the stairs.
A sound disturbed my reading.
I looked up and watched
water circle around a chair,
under the piano, out the front door,
down Tepolo Street, past Ruben’s deli,
a railroad signal, steel rails,
down an embankment, then stop short
and step into Yo-Lo-Digo Creek.
Linda Watskin ©2010