I spat in the bathtub
A blob of saliva, frothy bubbles, cast its shadow on the tub floor,
Then drifted off to station above the plug hole
Where gurgling bath water makes its exit.
Around it went, spinning, lazy, lonely, drifting, awaiting of its fate.
I spat again.
A second flotilla of froth set off to meet the first.
Warily they circled each other, drawing closer, spiraling, briefly touching.
Did they cling for one brief instant? I thought so, but forces outside tore them apart from their embrace.
An eddy formed.
First one, then the other drew towards it gravitationally
Like planets circling the sun.
They spiraled, drifted, drew together,
Yet never quite made contact like the first.
A whirlpool of my effluent made a spiral and a sucking gaping void appeared.
The sewers beckon!
Water leaps to be the first in line. Me! No ME!
Down and around, this world of the bath draws to an end.
And in the end my two blobs of spittle, like lovers, finally find their destiny.
In the last moment of their brief existence
Drawn down the whirlpool, they find each other at last.
In the cold grey anonymity of the sewers of Brantford,
Down the drain, passing the pipe, joining the junction
They make their way, they go
These two nameless chunks of H2O, to the Grand River
Thence to Lake Erie, Lake Ontario, The St. Lawrence, and Atlantic Ocean.
Joined in death, these two lovers will one day evaporate to the heavens, form rain,
Descend to this green earth, make wheat and beef, from which,
Long after I am gone,
Some man will form two blobs of saliva.