Random, disturbed, profound

this picture has no connection with the text below, just random beauty

I was trying to read, reading about writing

instead of writing what someone else 

might or might not want to read

and remembering a dear old, no, 

young, blogging friend, who,

once started a thing he titled

Randomly Disturbed Thursdays.

I realised it was, in fact,Thursday

and after all that, still I sat

reading about writing, my highly sensitive self

aware of the most annoying, distracting

sound of a leaky faucet, drip by drop.

I inquired of my husband, who

sat beside me at the kitchen table, also reading

"Where is that dripping coming from?"

Having no answer, he turned his page

continuing, while my ears, ever sharp

even in their half-deafness, tried to discern

"Could it be coming from the bathroom?"

"I can check" he replied, yet did not.

"You're sure it's not the kitchen sink?"

I turned to stare, to see if I could spy 

a silvery slip of something, no

not there, but still, the tap, tap, rhythmic

almost like the ticking of a clock, yes

almost like the clock just behind me 

on the wall, the second hand perfectly timed

to the same pestering sound.

On this Thursday, I found

random, disturbed, profound 

the truth, nothing is as we first

believe, flexibility is essential

and a touch of silly helps sometimes

when you're finding it hard to breathe.