At the bottom
of the basement stairs
there's a gray pipe
running overhead
thick as a man's forearm
and I always think
that's the pipe
I'll use to hang myself
if it comes to that.
Sometimes I give it an
affectionate pat as I pass
with the laundry
its hard, cool muscularity
strangely comforting
as a python
elemental and unfeeling.
Today, for the first time,
I asked my husband
its purpose. He explained
in his earnest, methodical way
that it recycled steam
from the radiators
back to the boiler. He said
more, but that was the gist
of it. My mind wanders
at technical explanations
and I caught myself daydreaming
through the rest. "Why?"
he asked. "No reason," I said,
forking my bagel
from the grill press.
"Just wondered."
No comments:
Post a Comment