The Mundane
Forsarahpotter
Late at night, the roads
in the Brave Little Knight’s room
are far from safe.
Paved with the broken bones of old toys
and potholes the size of mounds of clothes,
the streets bespeak a ghost town
where the townspeople
don’t drink the water for fear of disease
and would rather eat mousetrap bait
than take a chance on the pavement.
The are some evenings when
dust bunnies roll by
on the empty sidewalks,
but even they do not stay for long;
for the room was claimed by the Gods of Dirt,
and our sire’s bedchamber is decorated
with the casualties of a battle
waged since before the squire’s birth:
An unpaired sock breathed his last
ages ago on the mantelpiece,
yet his body remains as a haunting reminder
of a more sanitary time.
There sits an unwanted Christmas gift-
contortionist in the corner of the…
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Jay 