Water Water Everywhere

I curse the modest river that runneth down 12th street outside my window and I wish its babble wouldn't put me to sleep at night and if I could I would make a little dam and bathe in it, right there for the United Dairy late-shift boys to see and then I would explain to anyone who should care to stop me that this bum brook, this inner-city stream, this fuckin fountain is for naught. It's a busted pipe spewing my sink's, my toilet's, my washing machine's, my dishwasher's, my shower's, yes my shower's, water straight into the gutter. The dead grass in its path is wet as a whistle, and I'm inside sleeping like a baby, dry as a bone.