Frank Wood: A Watery Story

The water walloped down the wincing stairs.
The hall was quickly flooded ankle deep.
Discarded footwear floated round in pairs.
The polished steps were slippery and steep.

The tank was overflowing in the loft.
The bath was over-glazing at the rim.
A name flashed up, our lodger, Roger Croft.
Yes, that was it. We must get rid of him.

The sibilant cistern sizzled in the loo.
A toilet roll was dangling in the wet.
The cat was upside down and soaking, too.
My wife took out her phone and called the vet.

Roger rushed in and tripped over the cat,
taking a dive head first into the bath.
He dropped a bag of joints upon the mat.
He is a plumber and a hydropath.

Meanwhile the vet arrived, revived the cat
and spread the plumber out upon the floor
to lie with joints in water on the mat
as someone rang the bell at the front door.

The local vicar had come round for tea..
He tried to walk on water and fell flat
as Roger crashed downstairs and cracked his knee
whilst searching for a new joint, but not that.

Well, now the lodger’s left and so have we.
There are no leaking pipes or floods from tanks.
We overlook some meadows and the sea.
Last night the nearby river broke its banks.