Just tonight I was pecking away 
at the keyword like a chimp 
pumping out Hamlet, The Prequel 
when I heard a scream: my wife 

wanted to know if I was running water. 
No, I screamed back. I’m writing 
about life and how all landscapes 
are good if you see them in the right light 

or even in the dark once your eyes adjust, 
about how being surrounded by water 
doesn’t make one an island anymore 
than being surrounded by sand 

makes one an oasis. 
But none of that matters 
when the water heater dies mid-shower 
and your wife is rinsing shampoo 

out of her hair with cold water 
and yelling at you to do something 
and you’re doing the only thing you want to do 
but now you have to think about pilot lights 

and all the other things that make 
the world go round and how
no man or woman is an oasis 
nor every chimp a writer. 

Bio: Bob Lucky