Water Travels

There's stain in the ceiling of the downstairs bathroom. This got me thinking about apparent problems and true sources and solutions.  Here's the poem.  I'm not quite sure whether it wants to be a sonnet eventually or not, but it is presently 14 lines long.

                                                  Theories of Displacement

                                  “Water travels,” the roofers remind us,

                                    the plumbers, too.  The spot on the ceiling

                                    may be a sign nowhere near the source.

                                    It takes more looking to find first causes.

                                    “Pain travels,” the physicians declare.

                                    The sore neck may be a heart attack.

                                    The arm that aches may not be there at all.

                                    Like a magician, the body can throw its voice.

                                    “You know I don’t like mayonnaise,” you say

                                     as you reject the lunch I made, but I know

                                     there is something deeper troubling you.

                                    The hurt is hiding under the table.

                                   Our hearts are often like stoic soldiers,

                                   staring down death while whining about the food.