David Michael Jackson

Pressure Washing Poem

Pressure wash my world
Make it clean
like the snow used to be,
like the water used to run down the mountains
and into the valleys.
Wash the corners where the crowded animals hide.
Wash the barns where the pigs stand mouth to tail.
Clean the barns where the chickens lay sick eggs
between crooked feet in the cage.
Pressure wash the bats in the market of death
and in the bags of the poachers.
Pressure wash the ones who cut those trees,
clean them,
bleach them.
Turn the stream around on those
who use water jets
pressure washing the natives
until the land is stripped
and the demons are released
to get their
revenge.

Pressure Washing Poem by David Michael Jackson

Pressurewashing Clarksville, Tn

There I was
under the house again
crawling in water
toward a tiny stream,
a small waterfall
between a crawlspace and a wet hell,
because the commode is a water devil.
Feed me water, it says,
or take a ride to a gas station, friend!

I approach the leak,
crawling in a leak creek,
avoiding the call to the plumber,
between a crawlspace and a wet hell,
dragging my wet tools minus the one I need,
minus the one tool the plumber know that he needs,
or she, should she also be
crawling between a crawlspace and a wet hell
with the tool that
I don’t have.

I approach the leak,
which only drips at me now,
I approach with my vast knowledge gained from
minutes of watching videos, with my
shark bites, my compression fittings,
my torch, my solder, my flux,
minus that tool I missed in the video.

“Blast ye Gods of human plumbing distress I cry!”
as I turn wet and humbled,
as I drag myself
toward that small rectangular hole
at the end of a long dark wet
crawl, hoping nothing is moving ahead of me.
“Who needs a plumber!”
I call as I emerge
flat on my back exhausted in the sunshine,
and hear the words,
“I need to go to the bathroom.”

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Plumber Poem by David Michael Jackson 2019
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Plumbing Clarksville