Water
runs
down
the
wall;
it
must
be
coming
from
upstairs.                                                       ­                                                                 ­                        
Make it stop! My calls have been ignored. I live on the lowest floor; there is only going up.
The
     ceiling
             caves
                    inward
                            before
                                                             I take any action.
                                 Under my bed I fashion temporary shelter from the
                                 cataclysmic reaction                     between water and
                                 dry                                                              ­            wall.
                                                                The dust settles.
                                                               I feel for my face,
                                                                cuts and bruises.
                                                        ­             I am safe,
                                                           ­    But under my bed
                                                                ­  I am trapped.