Down in the airshaft/basement
where I go every morning for my bicycle
I see there's a flood on the floor
from a storm the night before
and I am reminded of the fields flooding
outside my childhood home in winter
and the water freezing
and an ice lake forming beside the creek
that we could skate on like Hans Brinker
when the canals freeze in Holland,
a place where I had never been.
But this puddle is a nuisance;
I can't step around it or over it
without getting my shoes wet,
and when I rearrange the bags of garbage
I don't find a dry path.
I just find more filthy water
under more garbage. I put on my gloves
as if for protection and lift my bike
and step as carefully as I can
as I carry it up the stairs.