Sunday, June 11, 2017

Towels


 
I sit in a dimly lit small room....

It's around noon, but dark outside because of the ongoing monsoon

This place looks like a great place to grow mushrooms

Or storage, for dust pans, mop buckets, and push brooms

Outside, the lightning strikes and the rolling thunder booms

I push aside the gloom and continue and let my daily chore resume

Neatly folded piles lay before me
All these storms are making my ceiling really moldy

I can't stop, my OCD as a tight hold on me
On my futon, different sizes, I lay with glory

Each one, for lifes surprises, tell their own story

Door hinges creak, I hear the sound of rumbling feet
My nervous system shrieks, so I start fumbling to get them out of reach

Without caring, little kids begin tumbling through the door
Clenched teeth swearing verses double dog daring

My towers are destroyed and scattered amongst the floor
Laughing enemies escape with another score

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