Hypnotised, watching the water swirl.
A lovely vortex
forms above a plughole,
Bits of
detritus begin to rotate,
Fragments of
things that didn’t get ate.
There’s a
currant in the current,
Along with
other clutter washed off plates.
Trapped and twirled
by gravity
Into a deep
dark cavity,
Into the
black hole beneath the kitchen sink;
Spun round,
sucked down, gone in a blink;
Down through
the pies and drains
And it’s
never coming back again.
Or is it?
I have a suspicious
misunderstanding
Of all this
physics.
The planet I
live on is rotating in space;
For all I
know, it’s changing its place;
It might be
one fragment in a massive whirlpool,
Irresistibly
pulled into a cosmic plughole.
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