Everybody Knows
Ceilings don’t hold water well.
Burst a pipe at the top
of an apartment block
to test this theory, if you will.
Lock the doors to each flat.
Let the water run down
between kitchen floors,
popping out the eyeballs
of ceiling lights below,
eeling into buckets, pans,
pots, gushing out of light
sockets into cupboards full
of old belongings, stuffed
to the gunnels. Rampantly
pull out all the winter hats,
scarves, sailing gear, tat.
Then, when it just won’t stop,
thrust your wet hand up
to where the light should be,
sopping summer rug in fist,
and jam it in the hole.
Scuba divers will tell you
not to do this. You’ll recall
that good advice never
to enter unknown gaps
in reefs or caves or wrecks
likely to harbour hostile
sea life, things with jaws,
as electricity fangs out
rippling down your fingers,
arms and shakes you out
into a human mop.
Burst a pipe at the top
of an apartment block
to test this theory, if you will.
Lock the doors to each flat.
Let the water run down
between kitchen floors,
popping out the eyeballs
of ceiling lights below,
eeling into buckets, pans,
pots, gushing out of light
sockets into cupboards full
of old belongings, stuffed
to the gunnels. Rampantly
pull out all the winter hats,
scarves, sailing gear, tat.
Then, when it just won’t stop,
thrust your wet hand up
to where the light should be,
sopping summer rug in fist,
and jam it in the hole.
Scuba divers will tell you
not to do this. You’ll recall
that good advice never
to enter unknown gaps
in reefs or caves or wrecks
likely to harbour hostile
sea life, things with jaws,
as electricity fangs out
rippling down your fingers,
arms and shakes you out
into a human mop.
Disabled Poets Prize 2024 winner Susie Wilson is an auDHD Sheffield writer. Poems in Propel, Northern Gravy, Black Bough, forthcoming in Carmen et Error. ‘Nowhere Near As Safe As A Snake In Bed’ coming with Verve https://bit.ly/3X1A8aQ . @concordmoose www.susiewilsonpoet.com