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After the children were gone,
the madness came out from under cover – came out to play came out from behind the walls It made its rancid presence felt in the daily, accumulating drift of newspapers, magazines, and earthquaked, fallen books Which evolved and metastasized upon, across, every floor in every room in every corner of that house Too many cats relieved themselves too many times, in too many places, anywhere and everywhere The defecation, the urination soaked deep into the books, the magazines, the newspaper machè which steadily grew upon the kitchen floor, the bedroom floors, the living room, bathroom and hallway floors Fleas flourished, blacking out white socks in a literal blink feces and vomit covered kitchen counters, stove tops, windowsills, the top of the refrigerator Black widow spiders flourished cherished and encouraged by the woman of the house Jane-Bear’s old bed – its mattress alive with the “ladies” so cherished hadn’t been a place to sleep for years A tiny pocket of space on the living room floor Amidst cascaded books, resting in unkempt heaps, painted thickly with the dust and cobwebs of decades, lying there, undisturbed This was Jane-Bear’s lair for sleeping I cleaned it, I put a sheet down and cried & when she gazed on what I had done, When she saw her clean, new, sheeted pocket of space, there amongst the books, she smiled sweetly, told me, “it’s much too good for the likes of the Bear” and I cried, dear God, how I Cried! Vote for this poem
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