Plumb Pudding

Small town labyrinths in metal musings

snarled in the Gordian knots of pipes,

sewers snaked through the underground

where a plumber’s acumen

for a leaded Rosetta Stone

can unplug the perils in toilet tenacity.

 

It all must be address with proper decorum,

the astute ascertained copper epiphanies,

spelled and sealed by a bill of Habeas elbow joints

where the overall clad crusader

safely secures a rooted form of serenity.

 

Course what lies in those waste laden tubes

remains a speculation to the john manipulators,

those who debate the endless question

of if the paper roll is meant to be left

either over or under.

 

Alas, only the wrench guru

has the power to perceive

all the truth held in those dispensers,

stir the irony as a profound pudding

to be served in simplistic harmony

from non backup drains.

 

Then there is the sublime CPV pipe epiphany

and the visions of Drano dispersed

in such plunger prophecies,

a vision of what was mean to be

where the bowels of society

secretly vent the discards of indulgence.