The Cellar

Dank earthen surface
hard packed solid, molded to be
a floor of sorts
The mold is creeping well
humming its little song...
Amid the palsied postures of tilty shelves
cling grimed Mason jars
the labeling a cryptic farce, contents
shamming to be
offerings in a pharmacy ...
The old dog's stumbling feet almost
slip through the backless steps -- too steep --
as she labors up the flight
and the cellar pretends to sleep

by Nancy L'enz Hogan

Other poems of NANCY L'ENZ HOGAN (4)

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