I wish I could fill my whole water glass
in three seconds flat from a cold carafe.
Instead I must stand leaning in, by the fridge
where this thin snake of pulsating wetness lives
It will stream out cold, pure, naked and slow
and will not let up, for as long as I press
my whole water glass, still empty by half
while I try to get a poem out of it, at least
as the level will rise, as the pressure
stays on,
At last!
Shall I drink this fast? Or no
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