Ruins

I’m not exceptionally good at poetry but like to try my hand at it now and then.  This poem I crafted over the holiday break after a long and thoughtful shower (I do my best thinking half-blind with Head and Shoulders trickling in my eyes).   It’s not great but not exactly horrible either.  Tell me what you think. 

in the corner of our shower

arched the tatters of a web

a long abandoned tower

collapsing upon my head

drooping in the suds and spray

the tattered fabric gleams

sodden tangled threads of gray

waving amid the steam

if its many-finger’d host still hung

amid the fragile gossamer ruin

scuttlin’ the vaulted rungs

on fly-tartar to find him chewin’

so ‘fraid, I might then shriek,

vacuum, scrub bleach for purity

his home would not last a week

showering completely in security

but now he’s dead or eaten

I gaze in wonder, awe

at his Hanging Gardens

his careful crystal halls

so like that Takil temple

made by missing Mayan hands

or eagle-eyed totems of people

long-vanished from these lands

how wondrous, whimsical, n’fey

our own addresses must appear

when another brushes us away

for the sake of comforting fear.

how our neighbors must consider

our own rooms craft of love and care

made all the more prettier

with no one living there.

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