"slumpt" poems
Some its said have an aversion to domestic
chores. Its effect rubs away relationships,
after cleaning, slumpt in a heap I am good
for nothing.
Magazines try to advise befriending
the routine. Check in when you begin, allow
the mind to wander and reflect.
Those uneasy decions years since -
let them go. Remember it’s not
a quake. Afterall it’s only an
after shock so there shoud be
no ill effects. This bouncing around
itches my bleached flesh
on my arm pock marks glisten like a
gritty saucepan bottom. Standing at
the sink, dripping from scuttling
memories of happy events. Lassoed
by the cleaner cable I feel the rushing tug
of dust up the pipe. It wasn’t your fault a voice
shouts loud, as I watch sparrows on
the fence, whistling, at wasting energy,
complaining about moments passed.
On the radio the jingle, jangle of
Mr Tambourine Man speaks of dreams
waiting between crisp cotton.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC