I
The water drips.
The old bucket squeaks.
There is a hole in the side,
the handle is broken,
and I am too poor,
too
meek,
to have it
fixed.
So I now carry it
one hand on the bottom,
the other on the edge.
But I am growing weak,
too weak,
to
carry it like this,
for
long.
Someday, I know,
I will drop the bucket.
And the water will spill
all over the
floor,
and my
master's shoes.
His very
shoes.
Still my master will look
at me,
with his piercing eyes that
I can
never meet.
And he will not say a word.
He will not condescend
to speak
to me,
or yell
at
me.
But I will understand.
I will
understand.
And I will feel
his anger,
and it will burn
inside
of me.
And I will be sick
for a week.
A whole week.
A long week.
I shudder at the very thought.
I am frightened,
truly frightened.
My future is bleak.
II
I have committed
a grievous error.
A truly grievous error.
And now, I am being punished
for it,
My master himself has chosen
to administer
the punishment.
And I feel honored by this,
so
honored
I cannot feel any pain,
not the slightest hint
of it.
Until I drop
to
the ground,
and I see my master's shoes,
next
to my eyes.
And I try to kiss them,
before I
faint.
Then my nose begins
to
bleed,
profusely,
it begins
to bleed,
and bleed.
Ah. Water first I spill,
and now blood
on your
shoes,
O, master.
How inconsiderate
of me.
How bloody inconsiderate.