Bucket

It's just sitting there

In plain sight.

Vulnerable,

Unprotected,

Yet sure and proud

It sits.



I don't know why,

But it's there;

I've never given much thought to it.



It's empty-

wrong.



It's not uncommon to find an empty one,

I found one once.

It was full of holes,

free of rust,

Striving to be full,

never able.

It's not uncommon,

But I don't like it,

Not like that...



This one,

However,

Is whole.



I think I'll try to fill it...



Until I tire of it...



At which point,

I will surely give it a good

Kick.