AN APPEAL TO PLUMBERS Poem by Henrik Nordbrandt

I used to use the word suffering
as one might when referring to
a clogged kitchen sink.
And the autumn light makes the grease on plates
look like old make-up
and you can't remember what to call someone
who fixes kitchen sinks
and when the word plumber
finally materializes
he says he can't come out for two hours
then shows up two hours late.
And so it becomes evening
like the end of all the other days
and you go out to the movies
alone, and see a film you have forgotten
long before the next time
the kitchen sink breaks down
so all that's left is to go home
and lie awake in the dark
and think of all the other words
you misuse, and everything
that went bad, all the ones
who disappeared because they didn't want to be with you
- so perhaps it is called
suffering after all.