flash fiction, Poems, Uncategorized, Writing

ocd vestibule

Behind the entry bench, the van gogh

blue umbrella wedged at a 35 degree angle

hadn’t been wrap-snapped first.

This would bother me, were it not wet

and needing to freely drip on the hardwood

floor by the baseboards.

This would bother me, but for the carelessly lain

pink scarf inadvertantly pooling,

sopping beyond its mohair fringe.

This would bother me, but I remember the lady who

walked in wearing it, who pretended not to see me.

 

-kem

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s