Blossom pink in rose petal,
toothpaste - cup.
Designer taps, hot and cold,
kills 99% of germs -
sanitary towel, dressing gown,
waste bin mouth-wash.
Foot-scrubber from white tiled wall,
in an air-freshener existence,
lit by an 11 watt low energy light-bulb
the extractor fan of condensation,
clad in dust.
Shower-head green painted toe-nails,
drip, drip, drip,
into the measuring jug,
used for rinsing hair.
Fine needle-point forest picture,
sat above white toilet cistern -
moist baby-wipe hell.
The shaving foam sounds distant,
A clean liquid soap dispenser
The dictionary factory must have exploded -
I catch a word or two.
A phrase - or seven, I think
as they land on my note pad,
writing; marking their place -
toilet brush, sink plunger, cotton bud.
It must have been the BATHROOM SECTION which went up in flames tonight - laxative, pain relief
Wife reminds me about,
about the purchase - unwise,
of a house - it's location so close
to the factory now demolished -
possible idea for a poem!
Mmmmm, a poem!
"Explosion in a Dictionary Factory"
by Andy Thompson