WAR Poem: Claw-Footed Tub, by Brendan Robert

The silver trimmed tub which sat on all fours
Patiently waited through both of the wars

It yearned for the day
It could fill and then drain

The dusty old window
And creaky wood floor

Offered solace and kindness
But the tub wanted more

Chips became cracks
And leaks rot its frame

When the owner returned
Things were not quite the same

One chilly fall morning
He stumbled home drunk

He had the intention
Of washing ‘fore bed
Slick floor, drunken stupor,
Slipped, fell, hit his head
The tub’s copper walls
Were stained solid red.