There's Nothing Wise About That Crack.

  Perhaps some flesh caulk
that would bind cotton briefs
if they ever even wore any,
to that infernal crack that hovers,
just above your bathroom floor,
or your kitchen sink
would be a solution.

The only places I abhor
a split more
involve divorces
and bowling.

Plumbers aren't always
what they're cracked up to be.

Like some 4.7 inches
on the rectum scale,
one can only shudder when
your world is butt
a split second away
from exposure to
the natural elements.

Like a quarterback who wears
a towel in the front,
perhaps a plumber should hang
a towel in the back.

If there's a crack in
my toilet bowl, he can fix it,
If there's a break in my pipeline,
he can mend the gap.
So why can't he apply
the same skills to his
personal septic system
when he's at my house.

I suffered many cracks,
about my hair
when I was a hippie,
I paid my dues,
but now I have endure
some more hairy cracks
when my sink is clogged
with hairballs and toothpaste.

Perhaps a digital photo,
attached to his check,
when the bill is paid,
might put an end literally
to the endless parade
of cracks endings.