Well Pump
To be within, yet without: the rootless seed.
Staring through glass, we see only the surface
sliced thin like cell-thick specimen slides.
I dream of knowing, of inclusion.
The well pump is fried, but only thieves
return our calls. How to deflect the lure
of complicity? Stack stone, observe clouds.
Tap the cistern. Absorb its hollow tune.
* * *
“Well Pump” first appeared in January 2018 in Amethyst Review.
Many thanks to editor Sarah Law for accepting it.
O at the Edges 
A poetic rendering of a practical problem, one to which I can relate as the former owner of acreage (and a well). Nicely done, Bob!
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Wells! They’re out to get me. And the conmen who diagnose problems incorrectly with no evidence! Argh. Two well companies told us our well had gone dry, and gave us estimates of $15K and $30K to drill a new one. I was pretty sure it was the pump, and we finally found an honest well technician who pulled the pump and replaced it. At least we know who to call…
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Glad it worked out well. My acreage was near Marquette, which is a large city (20,000) for the U.P. The drawback of being in such a remote area was a death of reliable, skilled contractors. There just wasn’t enough competition to force the duds out of business; a low standard of professionalism prevailed. That part, I don’t miss, though the natural beauty was remarkable.
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That’s what we encountered – they had all the business they could handle, and didn’t feel obliged to return calls or show up when promised. We were without running water for four months. We were glad that this wasn’t our primary home.
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Gosh, me too. Four months without running water is a little too rustic for comfort. And I meant to type a “dearth” of good contractors, though maybe “death” works, too. Certainly it seemed as if most had been killed off. 🙂
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Ha! One guy didn’t show up for three appointments. The fourth time, I called him an hour before he was scheduled, and he said he was on his way. Never made it. Ah, country life.
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I am always humbled to almost not wanting to write another word whenever I read your work. But I do. Onward…:)
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You are too kind! Thank you.
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Pingback: a grumpy gift: Well Pump — O at the Edges | hands in the garden
One of the costs of isolation. On balance, worth the price. I miss the quiet of our little part of East Texas.
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That is true. I’ve had much better luck hiring contractors from San Antonio (an hour or more away) than from any of the nearby towns. They usually charge more, but it’s worth it to get things done.
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Prosaic subject, poetic outcome, something of a transformation!
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