Tremor

The metals of the pipes do not agree,
and iron is the sacrificial anode
is what the landlord’s plumbing expert
said when he called today.

And here come a host of small exchanges
as if from the electric world:
pulses, shimmies of antimony,
tremors under your skin at night.

Something is adjusting or,
anyway, changing. The iron
pipes and the copper are at war –
a high-pitched shiver thrills the plumbing.

The house, the whole world, is shaking.
If you’re not dead you’re doing all right.

 

Tags:poetry