Poetry: Umbilical

Toilet Flushing

Photo credit: howitworksdaily.com

See it there.

A stark-naked, porcelain seat in want of wear.

And cords.

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.

Laura Leichtfried

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