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Poem: On Plumbers and Poets

Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay
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I wrote a bit of a rhyme.
I thought it was quite good.
I thought it solved all my problems
And most of those of the world.

I was feeling proud of myself.
You might say that I was smug.
It seems that self satisfaction
Can be a powerful drug.

Then it suddenly happened.
It started with a hiss.
It soon became a loud drip.
That was impossible to miss.

The water was going all over,
The leak was growing worse.
I just stood there a moment,
And then began to curse.

I tried for an hour to fix it
With my limited skills and tools.
Finally I had to give up.
Repeating failure is the work of fools.


So I reluctantly called a plumber.
He showed up pretty quick.
He had my problem solved shortly,
It was fixed lickety split.

As I wrote the check I must admit
I did a little grumbling.
The whole experience
Was more than a bit humbling.

That’s when it dawned on me,
That’s when it finally hit.
When it comes to solving problems,
Better call a plumber, not a poet.

The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Tuesday. Send poems to with the subject line "Poetry submission."

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