A response to a writer's cramp prompt: the paint had dried. Semi-fictional?
|THE PAINT HAD DRIED Fresh footprints led I saw in dread From room to room; Paws, bare feet, broom. On dark floor stark Swirly sweep mark. Attempt to clear Or brush-stroke smear? Ten toe prints meet, So cute, so sweet, With doggie tracks. Mischief attacks. Goop has spattered, Droplets scattered. Was stomping fun? Or dancing done? I sense spinning, Twirling, grinning. A girl, her pet Aid and abet. In cahoots, mates. Unconcerned fates. Carefree mayhem Spreading 'round them. Surprise swallowed, Dazed, I followed The clear set trail Stifling a wail. Along I crept, With each new step. Thinking, scheming, How-to cleaning? Black dog now white Daughter same plight, I found to scrub In a bath tub. Floors did escape With careful scrape. I laughed and cried; The paint had dried. 40 Lines|