The sparkling pot
In which I piss
Looks great unless
My aim’s amiss
Inquiring of
Its genesis
The wife looks down
And asks, “What’s this?”
I shrug my shoulders
Blow a kiss
Hoping that
She won’t persist
Alas, the effort
She resists
So I provide
Hypothesis
“That rotten tank”
“Is dropping mist”
A knob I turn then
With my wrist
“Well now I guess”
“The problem’s fixed”
She shakes her head no
And I desist
But we both know
Despite my wish
It was the wrong knob
I gave the twist
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