drip drip drip
the tap fills
the sink until
drip drip drip
it overflows
and suddenly
it’s everywhere
and the noise
drip drip drip
and yet somehow
we can’t turn it off
can’t turn away
can’t look away
we must know
drip drip drip
what she wore
what he said
where they fought
drip drip drip
who made the error
who told the lie
drip drip drip
the flood
the fire
the bomb
the war
drip drip drip
the child crying

Poets used to carry news with them, we are told. I’m feeling a bit newsed out at the moment, but this is for the Toads. 


11 thoughts on “News

  1. I love the ambiguity, Sarah: when I read your poem one way, it is the dripping of news but when I read it another way it is the shock of a person, stunned at what they have read, oblivious to the dripping tap and concerned only with the terrible details and the crying child.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Drip drip drip it does, and I like your metaphor as one who is driven to distraction by a dripping tap.
    The way news is presented today has that same affect…
    Anna :o]

    Liked by 1 person

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