In The Day-Room

My clay holds captive
Pirate ships
Roaming the linoleum
Capturing tiny treasures
Dribbled from the
Old men's noses.

Teeny-tiny pirates
Dressed in earthen finery
Scamper down
Lumpish ladders waving
A cockeyed skull and crossbones
As their feet get stuck
In the lace-like pattern in the tile
On the floor.
They must tuck and pull
To get themselves free
And to roll the sticky treasure
Back to the sagging lumpish ship.

When I right the sinking sail
Tiny-tiny men curse me
In a teeny-tiny voices
Volatile curses that
Make my hand sticky with sweat
So I crush them under my heel
To start over again.

In my clay are tigers
Don't you think?
I can hear them roar.

by Charlotte Ballard

Comments (1)

Very entertainingly told. I can imagine this scene very well, and I can imagine myself molding the clay a little to well- for comfort, but then again even a slightly warped imagination is an excellent source for inspiration. When in doubt- Tigers.