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Water

“But I’d been willing to help them, all along,
 If only they’d once admitted they were wrong.”
    ~ Sara Henderson Hay, “The Builders” (1961)

Neighbor kids play
I make my way
Into their cool
Portable pool
It’s summer
Body relief
Is the motif
Chilling esprit
I’ve gotta pee
Newcomer
Both these young gals
Have rationales
Whereby they plot
That I should squat
Each rotter
Doth demonstrate
Drily with straight
Faces — both state
Just urinate
Through your swimsuit
With a salute
I make upon
The neighbor’s lawn
My water
Older girl’s mom
Shows much aplomb
Hicktown accent
I can resent
Not quite as much
As her pet crutch
She bids her spitz
Say words not its
If this is cute
Who gives a hoot
She claims this grass
But she has class
So makes no sign
That acts of mine
Torment her
Her cutesy pup
Lifts its leg up
Down by the tree
Rather like me
And who could say
Cause for dismay
Shall if we dared
Moisten her yard
Dement her
Snow falls all night
Everything’s white
Neighbor kids build
Snowmen all chilled
It’s winter
I join their ranks
Buck their no thanks
Plug them with white
Balls in the fight
Ensuing
Two years pass by
I don’t know why
Snow on her lawn
Now fails to spawn
Pursuing
Building this time
Snowmen sublime
I work alone
Let it be known
This one I’ve built
Way past the hilt
Snowballs all packed
How nicely stacked
Till hotter
Days will come soon
But before noon
Phone rings: says she
Nothing but “He
Needs to grow up”
I don my cap
Back out I go
Into the snow
With a few hits
Knock it to bits
It’s water
Through years to come
I learn she’s plumb
Nuts toward me
I was told she
Cornered her drapes
Watched as I’d traipse
That she’d complain
Always in vain
Falsely reporting
Tales of exploiting
I never did
Bother to bid
Even a glance
Toward by chance
Her windows
What’s the idea
This panacea
Homeopathic
Could’ve caused traffic
If folks knew urine
Was so good for ’em
Maybe an answer
For curing cancer
And as for grasses
Such flow as passes
From healthy bladders
Nutrition spatters
The more fluidic
The less acidic
When wearing pants
Just a small dance
Won’t let it catcha
If it comes atcha
As wind blows

Thanks always returns

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