Time to clean up now,

go grab the broom

A tidy house this allows,

you’ll understand real soon

Nice and even strokes,

no reason to hurry

The idea this evokes,

of feeling clean and not dirty

Slide the dustpan along,

grabbing the weekslong remains

No reason to live wrong,

breathing our own pains

Now the easy part, throwing it all away

Slide our parts to the trash, preparing for new days

Categories: Experimental Poetry Uncategorized

Tagged as: father gnomic Poetry

abnormalvaverage

I'm a high school English teacher in Texas. I also hold degrees in radiography and radio and television broadcasting. Though I obtained certain knowledge and skills from my prior degrees, I do not currently use them.