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Brown water froths white too

Brown water, mud and dirt;

leaks through the half closed taps.

In absurd melody, it finds unison;

tip tap tap tip top tip tap.

Why does unnerving sound resound through closed doors?

Huddled in the room,

We wait and watch.

The brown carpet dry,

The white bed sheets carry our heavy colors.

We've turned the taps,

but they turned on us.

And now we have plenty of water,

but none to drink.

Oh look! How muddy is our sink!

Dirt is getting to us,

through the water around.

Silence abounds.

And yet there's the threatening sound -

tip tap tap tip top tip tap.

"Save me", we scream;

but the doors only listen to muddy waters.

Angry, but excruciatingly slow.

Kills us, Kills us;

this waiting kills us, so!

Brown carpet is now darker,


Water has submerged solid ground.

And its crashing waves resound;

that terrible sound:

tip tap tap tip top tip tap.

Crash, crash; comes the splash.

The taps have abandoned their abandon.

Faster melody, dirtier water;

Waves crashing: This perverse beach.

White froth at its mouth,

Dirt froths into white,

Like a dead man's poison,

Sinister froth, clouds our sight.

We tried.

Water rushes out at late night,

Neighbors rush in at dawn.

Remnants of stagnant water,

muddy strewn clothes and ruined shoes.

One dead middle aged body,

swollen with prideful water.

And what's gone is

the brown eight pound lobster

he'd fished out earlier.

And carved on his hand,

in what looks like blood is written -

"We tried".

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