If this day was a quarry
abandoned by dirt
and the machines
that displaced it,
the hours would suffer
a geology of absence
and an error in placement.
My socks would be clean.
My feet would be filthy.
Greasy dishes would be
in the cupboard.
Dogs would be
in the dishwasher.
I think the main problem
is dirt.
inspired by Kevin Prufer’s “A Dog Barking in the NIght” and Kjell Espmark’s “Route Tournante”
published in Iceberg's Poetry
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