I am the glass.
Above me-
the tap-
the world.
A hand turns it up.
.
It’s pouring out,
steaming water
with chunks of sharp ice.
I am the glass.
.
I have no arms.
This isn’t
Beauty and the Beast.
The ice won’t turn into a prince.
.
I see someone,
passing close by.
I call for help.
I know they can turn it off.
They have hands.
.
They do nothing.
.
I am the glass.
Above me-
the tap-
the world-
Out of it pours sheer misery.
.
It makes me angry.
I call out again.
And nothing happens.
I rant at the tap.
And nothing happens.
I wait.
.
I wait.
.
I wait.
.
I tip over.
And feel a slight release-
though the tap has not stopped
and the water and ice
are still flowing.
