John Gallagher - The Wall

A delta of fading coffee colored rivulets trace down my living room wall,
broken capillaries that have rust spread into one corner of the ceiling,
memory of a mishap, years ago, in the upstairs neighbor’s apartment.

All along I had assumed it had been a violent unexpected flood
immediate and sudden. But of late it occurs to me that
it was probably the story of a leak, hidden,
causing unseen ruin for years.

All those daily disappointments, the unspoken resentments,
repressed and dismissed, the small betrayals that were
negotiated away, lies really,
so burdened the wall that with the spill of the last secret indiscretion
it reached the point of collapse.

Her best friend. The wall could no longer bear the load.
That’s when it was sudden.

The law that draws all things down, brought these long threaded streaks,
running wet, right down the wall of my rented room.
At the time, I suppose I would have shouted at the ceiling,
“What the hell’s going on here? ” But I would have known
what it was. I just wouldn’t have known how to stop it,
not then anyway. Of course, the flood slowed and then stopped.

And the stain now is pretty much dried out and blistered,
leaving only a faint tearing effect. It’s retreating
back into the wall from where it came.

I, myself, never give it much thought
but for those times during the long silences
when the children call on holidays.

John Gallagher

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wall-11/