('90 / America)

The Poet, On Seeing A Mess, Groans:

Ach! What has happened here?
Who left these towels on the floor?
And all these clothes, so that I
Cannot even shut the door?
Who dropped a banana peel
And did not pick it up?
Whose socks are these?
Who’s sticky, dusty cup?
Who would leave a pickle jar
On the desk – without a lid?
What? It’s MY room? Ah, so it is.
Who made this mess? Well, I suppose I did.
I think I’ll just sneak away
Perhaps no one will see.
I’ll just hide in some closet
And write more poetry.

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