I guess we need something a little bit light after that.
This is a kind of poem of celebration.
It's called "Watering Trough."
It's little.
"Let the end of all bathtubs be this putting out
to pasture of four Victorian bowlegs anchored in grasses.
Let all long necked browsers come drink from the shallows
while faucets grow rusty and porcelain yellows,
where once our nude forebears soaped up in this vessel
come, cows, and come, horses.
Bring burdock and thistle, comes lover
the scum of Timothy and clover on the cast-iron lip
that our grand sires climbed over, and let there be always
green water for sipping that muzzles may enter thoughtful
and rise dripping."