the hand in my pants

the water bearer

whose hand holds not water.

it don’t cup right.

rigid and arthritic,

it leaks like levies.

numb to the trickle,

that drips upon skin,

it’s skinny to the bone.

the water don’t hold.

the tears don’t close.

open to the cold,

frostbitten in the blow

that rips off the tide,

it shoved down inside

the pockets of my pants,

pressed against my pride.

~KLKN