Saturday, September 7, 2013

Water the Plants

Sometimes I remember
to water the plants
when I see them half dead
prisoners of plastic pots
gradient shades of green turning to brown
folding up like burnt paper edges
in a slow flaming fire
branches sagging downward
limp dicked in a forced death trance
thirsty without legs
no audio
no white flag
waiting for me to remember
so they don’t

That’s a big responsibility.

I can’t be trusted with plants
or small children
(not to mention kitchen appliances made in Taiwan).

Someone shouts my name from across the room,

“Shawn, why don’t you water these fucking plants!?”

I turn around
see no one
my head spins left to right
back to front
but there is no one there.

I am not disturbed.
This happens a lot.

I keep everything, everyone around me on
life support.

I’ll water relationships once and awhile
spray the leaves with a gentle mist
so they appear fresher
then they actually are
and continue to muddle on
in my emotional failure.

If I had remembered to pay the water bill
I might have made it right 
with my bathtub 
my hygiene
my tiolet
my liver
my kitchen floor
not to mention the plants
and the voice in the back of my head
that keeps making demands 
against my
drought stricken soul.

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