George kicked the sink lever. Thanks a lot, George.
and now cylindrical rushes of wastewater stream out to people below, but they just go ahead. Somehow they ignore these water pipes that pipe roots
and waste and back taxes, this second half-of-a-halved root system. Jenny and Johnny build up the tree: Jenny a handrail from Johnny to George and Johnny a greenhouse glass to fit over all of them with only the tree for air and the sink for water.
Good thing students are already wearing their greenhouse glasses with lab coats, bright and crisp for the deflating dampness of the air that day, and that they’re unaware that each orienting step brings them a little closer to the root of it all. Since no one’s ever reached the drip pan, up—the new down—is the only way to go.
Someday someone will want to know how to get out.
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a/n: As a prose poem, did I pull this off in any form whatsoever?
