Water Copyright © Rob Lock 2010

Not much in the butt
you dead-head a few
while the can fills
rattle and splash
settles
to a steadier thrum
punctuated
by the every-other-second
patter of a blip of air
water
echoes up the belly
you move round the patio
pot to pot
thumb and forefinger
nipping
the pitch rising slowly
water
always downhill
seeking the easy
us
equally unable
meantime
the going is good
crescendo
you rinse the sticky
from your hand
turn the tap
not a drop spilt