Categories
Poetry

Permanent Condition

Worn gaskets.
Seashells collected
In Mom’s swinging wicker baskets.

Debris in the system.
A breakdown was a given.
You don’t realize the mess you’re in.

The oily residue
Won’t ever wash off, but you try anyway.
A life shot to pieces, then put on display.

Frozen joints.
And the pain refuses to go away.
It lingers so long, you know it’s here to stay.

© 2022 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.

By jebrownwriter

Houston, TX-based Writer and Photographer. Proud pet rescuer who spends nearly all his money on them.

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