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 …

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.
Shhh…

This appeared in the October 2012 issue.

Helen Guri

Join our community

Still reading? Show your support.

The Walrus features award-winning, independent, fact-checked journalism and online events at thewalrus.ca. Our content is available to all, but as a registered charity, we can’t do this work without contributions from readers like you.

For only $5 per month, you can support the work of The Walrus online. All supporters will receive a complimentary tote bag, gain access to exclusive updates, and join the community that powers the work we do.

Be part of The Walrus.
Monthly donations receive a charitable tax receipt.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *