(Poem by Sophia Shapira)
The faucet drips – and drips and drips some more –
And each drop hits the sink’s plain metal floor.
Pang. Ping. Pang. It drips all night and day –
And it’s a strain to keep this noise at bay.
I’ll have to hear this racket through the night
Unless the bowl beneath I place just right
To give an angle to the droplet’s splat.
So as to get some sleep, I must do that.
– – Sophia Elizabeth Shapira
– – 2012-05-04