rainbarrels

They fill up quick; then, not long stay empty.
My household can't, will not attune itself
to them. Too anachronistic, and work -
work not understood, appreciated.

Sandy would chide, goad me about them, when
she still held reign, here. Now, it's all on me.
I get to harass, educate, exhort,
and find uses for Seattle's finest.

Two barrels are near the laundry. One was
directly piped to tub, via hose, through
former window pane. another, out door.
My roommates think I'm nuts. Of course, quite true.

They don't have the history of hauling
water that I do. They've not visualized
all the water a laundry load goes through.
Nor most toilet tanks. They think I'm silly.

Yes, and know savvy exercise on sight.
Full body workout, circuit training, free!
Who needs a gym? I've got a street to sweep.
The city doesn't do, obviously.

So, if not a laundry-step class, then its
Dutch pre-parade, with some encouragement
from surprised passersby, pedestrians.
Anyway, the water does some work, here.

I am still surprised how few house fellows
know how to operate a push broom. weird.
They seem to get it, and get the point, when
the debris ceases wandering in, afoot.

Someday, we'll gang the barrels three abreast.
We'll horde the water, better, for summer.
Until then, or a cistern, I'm still found
dealing with the dams of Eridanus (*).

Best enjoy it then. And so, I do, if
solitarily, in the greater part.
The goldfish are bemused to see their tanks
Rise and fall with every passing shower.


* one of the rivers of Hades.