Had she really resolved,
To fall into that tank,
Exposed to the world as never before?
So much so that the tank,
Within an hour,
Decided to walk that marathon he had promised himself he would run.
The carnival that he started that day lasted for two weeks,
Eleven days longer than usual.
Fingers that had thumped freshly at what had looked like a seahorse,
Squeaked, much later, on balloons now hardly able to float upright.
Experts predicted that the latex wasted would not biodegrade for two hundred years,
I, however, was stuck in the short term:
Worried by the fact that it was all in my house,
The mayor having made an example of me specifically.
Squeezing weakly out of those balloons,
Ignored my anger for the moment
And suggested we contact the tank,
Who, it turned out, was our city’s waste disposal specialist.
One can only imagine how awkward that dinner party was in its first few hours.
The second half,
Became a friendly yet competitive night of drinking,
Which I, obviously, lost.
When I awoke the next morning,
Both My Stillness and the tank were gone,
Along with the latex we had stomped in all night.
All that was left was mold,
Attracted to my horrendously dampened carpet,
Which, within a week and to my chagrin,
Began to smell terribly.