Virginia W.
I.
Kitchen
Explosion
I lost my grip,
It fell
Flour everywhere
Fuck,
I look like a crack addict.
II.
III.
The jar he loved,
Now gone
It’s contents shattered and spilled
Sand thick,
Cold unfeeling dead
As well as all his dreams
O Captain Jack,
Don’t leave jars of dirt on counter edges.
IV.
Drowning,
Sour black tar fills my nose and mouth
Bubbles, drips and chokes
It runs down my chin.
This is a poem
A very bad one,
At the least
Alas with nothing to inspire,
Stream of consciousness takes over.
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