Piece Offering
The sump pump, ripped from its moorings and cast, bleeding ruddy iron deposits upon the soil and crabgrass, steams.
Neighbors serreptitiously cast their gazes at me through drawn curtains as I violently stab the evacuation tube over and over and over again with the noodley coil brush.
Drops of cold claret and clots of slime spew from the tube and arc through the morning sky on the rebound of each stroke, and the pump, plugged in and nestled in a bucket, caughs and splutters a filthy pint or two at each brief respite.
In seeming to kill it I bring it new life, though I cannot say the same for my ochre spattered clothes and shoes.
* I had no camera handy at the time. My sump pump is now back at work in a hole in my basement, and so I bring you a picture of a nice, new one.
Referring to your new baby, she is so darn feisty? Cutely feisty!
She cries loads?
what do you need a sump pump for in the middle of summer?
RHSP:No, no, my daughter isn’t a sump pump. She’s too young to be deciding upon a carreer.
l>t:My sump pump runs year round, several times an hour. High water table + rainy area = flooded basement!
well you better keep that thing in good order.
We don’t want you floating away!
What a wonderful description of an annoying event. I say let it die and install water jets. There’s nothing quite like an in-basement jacuzzi
Sounds like sumpin’s pumpin’.
Or punnin’, which is more than likely.
Ode to a Sump Pump? Who would have thought?
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