Ruth Baumann

I'm Watching

my broken kitchen faucet pour out unclean tap water,
considering its pressure, its lack of actual value
for my body. I’m thinking of the police, how hard they work
to keep fear the status quo. If quiet is complicity, where
do we start yelling? I am yelling. Who isn’t?
The water is still coming down, spraying
all over the sink, like an interior hurricane. People everywhere,
too, people goddamn everywhere.