Mess

No one scrubbed the hammock.
Or brushed the cabinet.
Distant like lukewarm cinnamon.

Being an astronaut is a chore.
To look at space gunk?
And you think it’s chilly up there.
Oof.
Nope it’s teetering and croaking.
Gah!
Gaslighting you like a fossilized fudge sundae.

Nothing is messy in outer space.
So they didn’t take the bleach along.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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