Must Have Been A Hole Somewhere

 

Must Have Been A Hole Somewhere

 

Leave an overflowing water bucket idle,

and eventually it will dry,

leaving you to reason why –

evaporation or breach?

Now, you could take and hold it up to light;

that damn thing seemed so watertight,

yet what was in it has taken flight.

Keeps you from sleeping nights,

but not always - some days, the butchers

have had their pounds of flesh

and, in the aftermath, rest

comes easy - but you still wake, weary;

interrogate that spent receptacle.

What can it be? Yesterday’s spark

will not fire kindling, smoke straw,

she’s in the kitchen, slams the door

and pours frustration into her sewing machine,

cannot thread, the bobbin’s fled,

and minute stabs draw blood instead.

One look will freeze imprudent wisecracks

on your lips, will draw attacks

instead of grace or favours,

no aromatic libation, no musky scents

will liberate what you must repent –

empty buckets leave us thirsty fools,

somewhere there must have been a hole.