The Pressure

by Joseph Murphy
 
A banging emanates from within a vase; a menu
Froths and snorts; a button seethes.
 
The handle of a pan begins to roar.   
 
At the edge of a curb, a muddy hatch swings open
Exposing a sluice. 
 
I’ve tripped into it!
 
I’m pitching, head long, numb;
Rungs snap; bones
Splinter.
 
Then ─ nothing. Nothing.
 
Then ─ a sigh.
 
I wake, as if in another’s skin; part the curtain,
Turn the tap,
Drop a coin in the meter.
 
Walking swiftly, I draw strength
From evening’s smallest detail;
From the husk and seed
Of memory.
 
The beast, once again, lies trapped within the fabric.
 
Good enough for now.


Joseph Murphy loves seafood, but you should know which fish populations are in good shape and not being seriously depleted!