Soliloquy

There’s clang.
There’s clutter.
There’s mess.
Smell of burnt toast and heated steam press.
Milk boiling over.
Pressure cooker whistling steam.
Door bell screeching. Telephone too.
A missing sock.
School bus honking.
Only if I could quadruple …

garden swing
the creak
of an unfinished verse

Yesha Shah

Soliloquy

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