|
I, mop
by Deborah S Regan I, mop, clean floors,
molding my contours
to each particle
of dirt, detrifice,
and insolvency
I, mop, spread my hair
in weeping,
my Pine-sol tears,
washing away the
sins of linoleum.
I, mop, claw my nails
bleeding, screaming
to smell filth
I cannot change,
immobilized in closet-prisons 03/24/2004 Posted on 03/24/2004
Copyright © 2024 Deborah S Regan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 03/26/04 at 05:13 PM What a unique and creative personification! I find the second stanza particulary touching, "I, mop, spread my hair in weeping...Pine-sol tears...washing away the sins of linoleum." Amazing that you can stir so much emotion by describing so eloquently the plight of a mop. Makes me wonder if one can live a good life knowing what destiny has in store...although having a clear purpose can be a great solace in life, how does one reconcile with the desire to BE something other than what nature has intended for you? That's how I saw it. Well done! :-)
|
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/07/06 at 02:23 AM Ok, this is very good, altho the last stanza took me into a Poe mode and feels freaky - well, my being claustrophobic and all. :) |
|
