To the juiced-up droplet that smacked me in the forehead
in its own one-drop rendition of the Chinese Water Torture:
You stupid droplet, your spatter sprayed my glasses
and doused my cheeks in cold crawling rivulets.
You’re stupid and reckless. You have no brain, no eyes, no ears…
And yet you know the way to the ocean, and can always find it.
Sure you’ll take your time. You’re the gregarious type.
You’ll get with some friends, and they’ll get with some friends.
Before you know it, you’ll be slicing through rock,
and sweeping the debris from the streets.
You won’t hold a grudge either.
You may stop along the way to nourish the corn plant that is to become my taco shell.
You and your friends may shoulder the tug
that nudges the massive transport from the dock
that carries the corn
that will become my taco shell
– a feat that the mighty ship, despite the massiveness of its twin-diesels, could not do itself.
A thousand pardons, mighty droplet