covetousness

I covet water.
I drink gallons of it by the glass
and when my cup runneth half-low
I get antsy. Anxiou, seeing
what's left, eyeing the exits
for waitress or waiter or
busperson with the pitcher
- or at home, my eye
alights with relief
on the fridge!

Where I get most of my H20
these days. It is
never enough. Cursing myself
for not noticing how my thirst
has drawn out like thirsty knives,
thirsting for throat I seize
the biggest glass there is, fill it
all the way topped off and pour

past my lips, punishing my throat
into slaked contentment,
filling my greedy,
sucking maw and glug glug,
motherfucker. Water,

you are mine. But wait,
I need more! But wait

there's more.