Dripping Taps

Dripping taps thumping on a dull beat.
They had a break from going out,
Visiting things, stumbling round sights,
Then stopped, so now they just pace the house
In time.
Dishwashers loaded and unloaded,
Stairs manoeuvred, pans soaked,
Sitting down in front of Wallander,
Thinking about what it might be like to die in your sleep,
Making tea before bed.
Do you dream?
He would dream about smacking
World-class bowlers around the ground,
Then he’d simply miss a straight one.
She worries more.
She’s pulling up weeds from the flowerbed
And then starts feeling one tug back,
Wrapping her water grip and dragging her
Through the claggy earth.
Why does the washing machine
Shake and squeak like that?
My grandparents have probably lost
Two hundred pounds’ worth of water in the last year.

James Carroll is a twenty-three year old English Literature Masters student at the University of Leeds. His work has featured in multiple Leeds art publications, including The Scribe, Heir and his mother’s fridge. He is currently writing a novel about the relationship between sport and men’s mental health, and no poem could ever mean more to him than Manchester United Football Club.