There’s so much mud, so much 
shit. Nothing’s clean in there, nothing 
stays clean for long around it.

Sometimes the only thing to do
is root in there nose first and
start making your way to clear:

get all the mold and debris
and wet wet soil stirred into
a death-leftover soup.

Poke and prod 
at the channel,
break it up,

dig. It stinks, it’s vile, 
it’s got its share of wrong — 
and man, that’s yours? That’s

really in there, flopping in the 
ick, flipping in the muck? Get a hold 
of that and get it out

of there, fast.  It might bite,
might have venom — get it out,
get it out! Watch that water start

to burble clear. Stay with it,
clearing, dredging, deepening
the bed down to gravel. Till

you can see the bottom. Till you
can’t smell it flowing. Till you’d
drink from it, till you’d offer anyone

a drink from it.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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