Water Conscious


Cry in the shower. Save yourself
a rainstorm: listen to the basketballs
falling tropically on the neighbour’s court.

Drop-kick a potted cactus
for its dram of ooze.
Lick your wounds at the watering hole

two blocks upstream. Drool into your beer,
then drift outdoors, take a leak on the levee.
Confuse “tribulation” with “tributary.”

Invite Psycho to supper. Shower.
If cooking up a storm,
cry into the flour.

Try to milk the cat. Lick
your wounds. Empty sacks of rock
salt over anyone’s tin roof.

Percentage-wise, people are mostly drips.
It takes umpteen to plump a rain pillow—
glutton rigged under the eaves

to usher last night’s
downpour to your shower.

This appeared in the October 2012 issue.

SIGN UP FOR OUR NEWSLETTER. Get the weekly roundup from The Walrus, a collection of our best stories, delivered to your inbox. Learn More »

Elsewhere on TheWalrus.ca