Get Your Premium Membership


Slum Where hard looks and thin soup oppose, the spider, cockroach, rat, and mouse dispute in patient litigation or in border raids our title to this world. There is no mystery, it boils down to food. Our ruined lunches providing theirs as Roman baths provided stones for abbeys of a different creed. They too win converts. With earbite and cold fear, patient, persistent, numerous, their inquisitors huddled together in dim light to study our disgust. Greyly, brownly, blackly surpliced they muse on our improbable millennium.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.