The Six Shooter

Sunlight poured into the cave,
teasing the stream that stumbled
over rocks.

Curved trees scowled,
their skin like a map,
the ivy like roads.

Six old drains lined the wall,
The water suffocating every moss crater,
every inch of rust.

We waited for the plastic pig,
using sticks to coax him but he was stuck,
jammed in the silt.