Vessel balanced atop,
Child at the hip,
The woman straggles
Barefoot for miles each day.
At the roadside tap,
Their pots in queue,
Children squabble,
Waiting for the daily dribble.
Or heaving at the rope,
At the communal well,
Feet on perilous edge,
The leaky bucket swinging.
In soft moccasins,
Mellow air wafting,
Irritably I wait
For the flow to turn tepid.
Just the runoff,
Rushing headlong
Down the drain—
Enough for whole families.
Like the woman at the well,
I stand convicted at the sink.
© Abie Alexander
Greenbelt, MD September 22, 2021
Squandered Water
Oh, Abie jan, what a beautiful, poignant poem. You are such a gifted thinker and writer.
Thank you, Carolyne jan, for your kind comments. Hope we can make that trip to Armenia!
Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink
Water water everywhere and some of it just stinks
Water water everywhere but not enough for me and you!
Pamela Oconnor.
Very true, Pam. Clean water is indeed a luxury come to think of it.