Ode to Gunk, Rubbing Alcohol and Real Poets

This morning, I’m playing Solitaire –

Because laundry is swirling in the washer –

Or drying on the line –

And I still don’t feel like tackling the gunk in my kitchen sink –

I’m trying to beat my best time –

Hard to do, when the mouse feet are fettered –

By months of dust, grime and other unknown films –

I open the new bottle of Rubbing Alcohol,

Grinning as I remember why I bought it –

Seems the child unit thought the previous clear bottle held peroxide –

And dutifully poured the entire bottle over the scrapes on his legs –

Wounds incurred from weeds, tree branches and pellets –

As he and his band of brothers waged an imaginary war –

On the wild plains of the prairie –

Where no one actually dies – and remain friends as soon as “Uncle” is called –

Wars should always be fought with air-soft guns…

And adequate eye protection – –

How he howled and vowed never to use peroxide again –

🙂

Soak the cotton with liquid fire –

Swipe over tiny mouse feet –

Turn pure white to grimy black –

as I clean the witness to my neglected garden plans-

And partner in frenzied work to pay for said garden plans –

aka, my desk –

And then resume my game – only to find

The Queen of Hearts blocking my win –

New game – and how fast I stack the deck –

As the mouse skitters across my clean desk –

On pristine feet –

Perhaps I need to wipe the gunk from my soul –

And skitter across my garden –

Or kitchen –

To do that which needs done –

Or perhaps

I should rescue my laundry from the approaching rain clouds –

And be satisfied, at least,

the mouse,

closet

and hamper

are once more clean.

As I beat the Queen of Hearts in 1.05 minutes…

**********

I’m not a poet and don’t I know it!   If you want to read real poetry, from a master – Check Out Ed’s End of the Planet Books – to see what a real poet can do!   🙂