eventually
it broke
(the vase)
sure, I had to throw it against the wall
a few times,
(few = million)
but the smashing of it
surprised me
–liquid spilled everywhere!
cutting tender toes
as I struggled to mop it up
Lacking towel
(and mop)
the crumpled paper balls I employed
–created incidental Rorschach art
& poetry that looked quite like words–
but proved ineffective
(in the l-o-n-g run)
tourniquets couldn’t staunch
the bleed, either
–water colored paradoxically
rose from those toes–
and though I cursed the mess soundly,
that didn’t work as well as I thought it might.
that spill spread!
A mixed metaphor
the wildfire of it
soaked rugs,
seeped through floorboards,
and dripped into
every story in my house,
saturating everything in red
–which made me angry
(and hungry)
and more attractive to the opposite sex–
(as red will)
and it wasn’t until
the liquification of home
and hearth
was near complete,
that I noticed
there had been no
Gerbers in that
infernal vessel
–after all.
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