Tap Nap

Wind droops. Sloop stops.
Flopping onto my bunk, I hear
Waves slapping the side. I ride
A slight chop, while sleep nears.

Nearer, though, in dank dark,
Waterdrops from tank tap
Drip, one by one, to drum
On top of tin cups, draining
Upside down in sink— ric-
Ochet to spank zinc, and slip
Down slope past slops to lip
Of trap, which greedily drinks
Them up, with gurgling slurping suck.

Curse the luck! Tin din
And trap’s cantankerous talk pluck
My nerve joints like banjo strings:
Plink, plankety, plonk — a blank,
Unsyncopated pingpong game,
A sing song thing gone wrong.
Can a leaky tap speak?
Utter bunk ... I think. But,
Weakening, I begin to link
Honky tonky tinkle tunes
Oblique to a junky theme.

Thus a wonky toggle takes
Shape, binding the shank of prank-
ish tap’s dribbling claptrap
To driphappy me. I sink
Thankfully into dreams.