It is quiet, here.

The only thing to interrupt the silence

is a tiny droplet of water

that falls every six seconds

from the rusted tap

which needs to be fixed.




Mold has blackened the plastic sides

of the shallow tub.

The shower curtain is gathered

to the left, where it hangs

like an unwanted prom dress

curled up in the corner of a closet.




There is grit between the tiles

like dirt beneath nails.

The barely lit bulb blinks,

and flickers, and winks,

silently signaling to anyone who cares

it’s on it’s last light.




The mirror is spattered with toothpaste,

and wears the faded mark

of a lady’s lips.

Someone once was loved, here,

but that memory slips down the drain

like every passing



The End

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