Posted by: endithinks | September 13, 2007

Poetry Thursday Sept 13,2007

Dust spreads across the checkered fire and clouds tablecloth

picking its way between empty salt shakers, peppercorn grinders and half inch thick cobwebbed steins.

Dust rises as wind from the first motion

seen in this place for years,

grabs it and throttles it, sending the dust to scurry underneath the chair legs and floorboards,

peering out.

A muddy brown sneaker clamps down,

and another,

filled with a foot, one in each shoe, and the dust flies again whirling

in mid air all sense of up and down snatched away, confused and weakening as it is blown apart.

The boy sneezes expelling the desperate dust

from his nostrils.

His dirt crusted hands wipe under his nose scraping

and agitating another achoo.

He picks up a stein and tips it over his head praying

for moisture,

but only receives a spider’s foreclosed home.

Sputtering and spitting he clears his mouth and sees

the salt shaker.

Twisting the cap off he licks his finger and plunges it in,

he captures a few grains and swirls it back into his mouth.


He moves on pulling back tables, bones and chairs,

searching for anything that he could eat.

He starts to sob gently,

the room echoes.


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