Imrich

Reverse Perv’s Geyser

by Richard Chetwynd

All the roughnecks love the word “gusher”
As they tap into the heart of a blackgold well.
In old photos the hard-hats gawk up as the geyser
Shoots skyward, then splatters them with oil.

I’m no pro to speak but I like it too whenever
The pressure rises, like a stream gushing
With the force of a mother’s muscle and long
Stretches of denial behind the wheel.

And later when I’m caught standing there
Peeking through the branches of a nearby bush,
Not daring to emerge, but blankly staring

At the sound of that growing glowing puddle,
Don’t fret, it’s nothing but a mad mindrush
And mindtongue to wipe off your ankles.