Photo credit: howitworksdaily.com
See it there.
A stark-naked, porcelain seat in want of wear.
That share the fluid from bowl to container,
Just look how they drain her like the pipe through the floorboards;
It’s waiting to wane her.
A pull and a push.
Not so easy to flush what’s been made by pure spillage,
(In the eyes of the village),
But with each new flood down the tube to the exit
A unity spreads, and he stirs; Plato’s cave quit.
The cord now it gurgles with panic, with doubt,
And he gives a deaf shout whilst she figures it out.
The cord starts to fail like machines rarely do;
He leaves his home hollow, something borrowed, someone blue.