The Plumber

Down in a corner crouching in a cellar,

Striking in the darkness a fragrant snake,

Jabbing down the oakum, mumbling bits of hokum,

Jabbing all the oakum that the joint will take;

Squatting in the cob-webs, scaring sullen spiders,

Humbling himself before the proud outsiders,

Fumbling and mumbling, rising up and stumbling,

Fumbling in the shadow for his lost dividers! .. .

Back in a cavern underneath a stairway,

Flattened in the blackness a tom-cat glows,

Glowering at the plumber, swearing at the plumber,

Eyeing the new-comer with the cob-webbed nose.

Down on his knees by the torch that roars,

Roaring at the lead in the cast-iron pot-

Soaring tongues of red, tongues white-hot

Bellow at the lead in a burning spot.

Here kneels the plumber at his shrine-winter, summer,

Humbling, mumbling, fumbling in the shadows;

Bowing at his altar, mindful of the nation,

Worshipping obscurely the goddess Sanitation.

The tom-cat glowers and the spiders sulk

Awaiting the departure of the solitary hulk.

Still he keeps a-pounding, pounding down the lead-

Pounding down the lead, bowing down his head,

Mindful of the living, thoughtful of the dead.