I fill up a water bottle
until the top erupts
and water fountains over
my hands. The kitchen towel
is really really dirty;
I can't dry them on that.
This thought sends me into a blind rage
I smack the bottle against the side of the sink
until it splits and showers the floor with water.
I sit down and feel it soak into my cotton trousers.
Jack was just pouring gravy on his sausage-and-mash when he heard the thud of his sister falling from the third floor window.
I'm going to get up really early
and bounce around outside
until no-one can look at me any more.
If I had the capacity, critical commentary would follow. Revisions may do; do sisters thud as they fall? Answers on a postcard.