Behind your metallic door
lies the mystery of scalding
water’s slosh and sluice,
a lulling séance of sound to
the kitchen listener, who could
listen forever some nights,
the hum of machinery melding
with a rushing cascade, inducing
a descending calm, the warm
countertop above, a favored place
of the drowsing cat in winter.
Jef Leisgang, Fort Atkinson, looks for wonder and mystery in the everyday. He manages a bookstore on Madison’s East Side, and is working on a poetry chapbook.