A Trickle It’s Not





A glass of water,
Knocked over carelessly 
On a restaurant table,
Seems like gallons,
When being cleaned up.
The napkins and table mats nearby got soaked.
People next to the spiller blot desperately
Trying to stem the flood, 
From sloshing over the table's edge 
Onto their laps.
The spreading tide of it also creeps 
Toward the table's other edges...
And friends there run,
Like they would from Vesuvius.
But one of them, in desperate avoidance,
Spilled his glass, too, 
Which found the rim of his plate,
Mingling water with his cheese omelette 
And home fries...
A combo not offered on the menu.
    And the "Sorrys" to staff and lunch companions,
    Elicited just insincere, "It's OKs".