Thursday, November 21, 2013

Thursday Original Poem

This poem was inspired by a quote from a 17th century homemaker's journal after she bathed for the first time in a "showerbox."

I bore it well, after not having been wet all over in twenty-four years.


Stink when you have to
Fish oiled fingertips
Or musk- crammed fissures
Recline in socks that barely hide your fungussed-feet
And blink as flakes of wax wisp from your ears

Human bean
Warm with life that murmurs forth in waves of muck
Burgeoning blisters of ulcers

Microorganisms upon your skin
Make colonies and picnic
In the yellow scabs behind the rose of your ears

Instead of warfare with soap, briny and burning
End your prudish parade

And join the filthy merrymaking

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