The Ubend is sweating and the floor is a lake

The U-bend is sweating and the floor is a lake.

I’m under the cabinet for my own pride’s sake,

yanking the wrench until the metal gives way.

My hand hits the pipe in a cold, hard spray.

The skin on my knuckle is a torn, jagged flap.

I didn’t feel the sting, just the sudden snap.

A red bloom starts growing on my white sleeve,

a messy ink stain I can’t quite believe.

It’s thicker than the water and warm on my wrist,

leaking out into the dark in a slow, steady twist.