She stepped across the threshold
Into a land of laundry mountains and
Dishes piled in jagged rocks at the edge
Of a sea of soapy water gone cold
And unfamiliar odors which warred against her senses
She tried not to notice the fresh cut lawn
Creeping in the back door
Or the canopy of webs with polka-dot flies
Which hung gracefully over every window
But the mildew vines growing up the shower curtain
Were just too much.
It wasn’t that the house was dirtier,
It was just someone else’s dirt.
Writer’s Digest 2013 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 6
For today’s prompt, write a poem from the perspective of a person who either works at and/or visits a place you like to visit (that’s not yourself). For instance, a fry chef at the Krusty Krab, a bouncer at a nightclub, waitress at a restaurant, etc.
I’m sure we’ve…
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