Funny World

Thoughts While Washing the Car
[written in response to Thursday Think Tank Prompt #12:
Water at Poets United]

Out in the barn
this morning,
I filled the horse's bucket
with generous dollops;
made sure the dogs
have cool buckets waiting
for the heat of the day.
Now I'm washing the car.
This all involves
water -
a bucket for cleaning,
a hose for rinsing.
Later, I will shower.

How rarely do I think
about the magnificence
of this.
I turn on the tap.
It is there,
hot or cold.
I live in a place
rich with rivers,
with lakes and lagoons.

I often seek out
the sound of the river
to quiet my soul,
when this small city
feels too noisy,
too busy.
The salmon leap
up-river
in the autumn:
fish a-plenty
from this rushing
giver
of all life.

Water.

An hour away,
give or take,
lies the ocean,
wave upon wave,
white-capped and rushing,
like white-maned horses,
galloping
in to shore.

On the other side
of the world,
lies the other side
of this story.

My sister,
with a vessel
on her head,
walks miles
for a bucket
of this water,
with which
she teaspoons out
survival
for her children,
a scant
sip at a time.

Some Mayan women
trying to reclaim
a desert,
came to meet us,
showing us photos
of how,
with tin cans
of precious water
they so carefully
poured each trickle
on the roots of tiny saplings
in parched, cracked earth.

Traveling here
they passed
all the lakes
and rivers
and waterfalls
all the way
along
the highway.
They marvelled
at so much water
everywhere,
our wealth,
the ease
with which
the basics of our living
come to hand.

A child asked them,
"Is there anything
you want to ask us?"
They said,
"yes......
it's this:
Why do North Americans
complain so much?"
and I felt my shame
like a slap,
like a hiss.

Where is the fairness
in a world like this?