water fountain

20 seconds away from being on time, 10 breaths away from room 212 I stopped

to drink from the water fountain like fate’s will as it stole my punctuality;

forged from iron

bronze and baring

its veteran teeth at me like a man in a suit, unapologetic

daring me to consider myself on par,

tearing me apart with its rusted eyes alone yet

rearing me as if I’m some sort of child, and suddenly, violently I am

a calf suckling milk from the teat

of my creator, the first sip after a mere night’s rest; Oh how? how can such curt

mundanely regimented few hours of fast bring this incensed craving every morning

in a shade redder than the last?

I see myself in the back of my mind, hanging

on a dry throat and a prayer