Ooze
Listen to poem:
There it lay, lovely loose ooze on my path.
Black, sticky, stinky mud with aftermath.
I knew the feeling as feet slither in
As I grinned and grimaced with chagrin.
Squelch, squish, slurp, splutter and splat the ooze groans,
As my feet are soiled to pitch black tones.
Such a disgusting feeling with feet stuck
In the vile pile of gloppy, sloppy muck.
Through the mud up to top of thighs I wade,
But, creeping along, slow progress is made,
I sink lower down to my waist and stall.
Appalled, I squirm on my belly and crawl.
As I dragged myself up, the ooze clung on.
Any hope of staying clean was long gone.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2023
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