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Ripe, round, and ready

Like bottom-heavy raindrops

From dripping, dribbling water faucets,

We hold our bulging, bulbous bellies

As we watch the drip drip dripping faucet

With its plop plop plopping

The prospect of which makes us painfully ponder the various routes to the drain

—

Ripe, round, and ready

Like bottom-heavy raindrops

From leaking, weakening water faucets,

We watch the incessant, insipid plickity plop plunk plop plunk

And consciously consider who the plumber was:

We ask, “Who fashioned such a device

That so rudely, restlessly rouses

Our billowing, baby-filled bellies?”

Plink plink plop go the droplets

“Who made that faucet?!” we demand.

“And from what faulty materials?”

Plunk plunk

“And who turned that knob?”

Plop

 “And for what purpose?”

Plop plop plunk plop plop

—

Ripe, round, and ready

Like bottom-heavy raindrops

From soaking, choking water faucets,

We feel ourselves bursting with billions upon billions

Of contractions and cravings and convulsings

To burst forth and freefall from the faucet,

So we implore with finality:

 “To what deep, dark, dank, dungeoneous, dangerous,

Unseen, underground,

Slimy, sinuous sewer passages

Does that drain lead?”

As we rumble, stumble, and tumble,

Ready raindrop over ready raindrop,

Each suspended in the isolated and solitary

Gush and swoosh

Of waterfalls rushing to their source,

The centripetal force of the drain

Smoothly sucking, persistently pulling, elegantly embracing

And enlarging an orifice into each delicate droplet

To swallow the abysmal vastness

Of the salty, sweet, sinuous, sensuous sea 

Just beyond the passage that led

From the faulty, flawed, failing faucet to the drain

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