Six Seconds

The faucet has a steady, rhythmic beat,

a tiny hammer hitting at my sleep.

Every six seconds, a heavy drop falls,

bouncing its sound off the tile and the walls.

The spout has a crust of a pale, limey green,

the ugliest thing that I’ve ever seen.

I bought the new washer a fortnight ago,

it’s sitting right there on the counter, I know.