The Pipe Above the Kitchen Sink (Petcock)

Lyrics

7:30 AM.
The parsonage kitchen is twelve degrees Celsius.
Pale light from the high window.
A task requires completion.
Reverend Goss’s inventory, section four: plumbing.

Above the stone sink, a length of copper pipe.
Green with age, sweating in the cold.
And there, the first valve.
Brass, with a handle worn smooth by unknown hands.
I take the rusty wrench. A quarter turn.
A sharp squeak, a hiss of trapped air.
I write on the parchment tag, in my best black ink:
"Petcock Number One. Kitchen Sink."

It is a petcock. P-E-T-C-O-C-K.
A small drain valve designed to relieve pressure.
Or to bleed a line of water.
One for the sink. One for the boiler. One for the spigot outside.
Three petcocks in the parsonage, all accounted for.

Down to the basement. Fifteen degrees, and damp.
The smell of mildew and engine oil.
The boiler hums its low, constant note.
Behind it, against the stone wall, is Number Two.
More corrosion on this one. Gritty to the touch.
My label is tied with twine just below the handle.
The procedure is identical. The result is order.
"Petcock Number Two. Boiler Room."

It is a petcock. P-E-T-C-O-C-K.
A small drain valve designed to relieve pressure.
Or to bleed a line of water.
One for the sink. One for the boiler. One for the spigot outside.
Three petcocks in the parsonage, all accounted for.

I wonder about their provenance.
No manufacturer's mark remains.
Installed, perhaps, before the war of 1939.
A plumber, whose name is lost, chose these fittings.
I read an obscure fact.
In some rural parishes, children would blow through the valve.
To make a shrill whistle.
A curious, non-standard application.

The third is by the back door, for the garden spigot.
The morning is still quiet.
The last label is affixed.
Inventory complete. 7:45 AM.
Petcock.