2 a.m., and the only sound in the dark

is the dripping of the shower head in the bathroom,

the smack on the rubber mat,

every six seconds.

It’s regular as rain,

like a water clock,

or Chinese torture.

(Can I say that?)

I timed it by counting in “thousands”;

every six thousand, another “plop”.

I think of all those statistics;

there’s probably something that happens

every six seconds:

a baby is born,

a crime is committed with a gun,

someone eats a fast-food burger.

Then the drops become liquid sheep –

I count each one as it crashes to the shower floor.

But that’s a messy image, smashed-up sheep,

mutton on the tiles,

and I give up after forty-three.

I really should get up, try to tighten the spigot,

muscle off the flow,

but it has become the excuse for my insomnia,

and I find myself anticipating

the next clockwork drop,

ten times

every minute.

07/19/2003

Posted on 07/20/2003
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt