I
ask you, dear friend, are dust and grime a crime?
Would
it be it considered a natural disaster if I’m involved?
Can
dirty words and deeds be scrubbed away?
What
if I washed my hands of the whole damned deal,
would
that accuse me of complicity?
What
if I create then disregard the mess altogether,
fail
to admit my compliance and neglect as the
proprietor
of useless crap, the woeful collector of
chaos
and chicanery, replicator and repeat offender
of
these despicable and loathsome heaps?
I
confess; I am guilty as charged. The responsibility
rests
with me. What in hell or on God’s Green Earth
would
you care if you had never been allowed to see
what
an EF4 tornado or rampaging flash flood
could
justifiably sweep away, the compilation of misplaced
crap
I have amassed, that which occupies and buries
both
time and space piled around and atop of me?
Please
excuse me for never having you over for cake
and
ice cream and a good chat. As you know, I live alone,
and
my place is a friggin’ mess.
-30-
Chris
Hanch 4-16-2020
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