The Slattern

She hasn’t driven her vacuum cleaner around the rooms;
the dust sits thick.
Piled up dishes will be taken care of – soon.

Hillocks of washing swell and lie in ambush;
windows are opaque with grime;
the fridge’s fruiting moulds are eager to be let loose.

Newspaper castles yellow in the sunny afternoons;
the bottle stack threatens;
a compost bucket barely contains its ooze.
Blue emerges from an ancient plastic tube
atop a slimy sink.
The slattern sings. Loudly and out of tune.
Blue vacuum cleaner

Image via Wikipedia

This is one of mine, originally published in Blackmail Press – the 36 inch bust issue.
You can access the other Tuesday poems by clicking on the quill to the left.