Sun And Water Poem by Irene Mitchell

There are enough spies in the land
to find, finagle, and deliver
the object of desire-
information,
just information.
May delivery come as neatly
as a thrice-folded napkin
under a fork
just to the left of the white plate.

What will I do with so many bits
of information?
Gather and store in the root cellar
until cohesive.
Scrutinize the profusion for any unwanteds.
Seems so easy.

There may come a time, however,
when all I need for sustenance
will be sun and water.