The city shut the valve at ten this morning

The city shut the valve at ten this morning.

I turned the tap and got a dry, hollow cough

from the pipes. They didn't give a warning,

just a sudden jerk and then the world was off.

I tried to swallow a pill for a dull headache

and felt it lodge halfway down, a dry stone.

My throat is a desert, a parched and dusty ache

that makes me feel fragile and entirely alone.

On the laminate counter, a salt-crusted glass

leaves a white ring where the moisture used to be.

I’m waiting for the sound of the pressure to pass

back through the walls and return the lake to me.