Spider Webs in the Corner

The spider webs bothered me
In the corner sitting there
Unbothered
Collecting dust more than flies
Unswept corners, uncollected strands of silk

Perhaps they were made for decoration?
Tiny strands of silken knick knacks or bric a brac
‘They weren’t meant to be picked up. That’s their space there.’
Bullshit
The corners are just dirty.

A dirty living room, in a dirty apartment
With a dirty man living there
Dirty whores who visit and do dirty things
Not me. Not I.
I am not going to be another dirty strand of silk left in the corner

“I’m sorry Brad. I can’t do this. It feels dirty. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m going back home to my husband.”

This is for a dVerse prompt: For your first poetics challenge of the year, I’d like you to dip your word-brush into Bishop’s poetic inkpot, as it were, consciously incorporating accuracy (detail), spontaneity (immediacy), and mystery (revelation) to write your own original poem. I hope you enjoy!

Are you subscribed to The AuthorStew page? Why not? It makes for a great start to the new year! 😉

Published by authorstew

C. Stuart Lewis creates poems with feeling, intelligence and sex appeal. His short stories and books focus on characters that feel real in real world situations. Originally from the United States he now resides in Ontario, Canada. Check out his webpage at TheAuthorStew.ca

16 thoughts on “Spider Webs in the Corner

  1. The creepy photo and your description set a distinct atmosphere. A place where people come to do things nobody talks about. I’m glad the person changed their mind and went home.

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  2. I love the way you shifted focus from the detailed spider webs in the corner to the wider view of a dirty man living in a dirty apartment, doing dirty things, Stew.  I don’t blame the girlfriend for going home to her husband.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This paints a very vivid picture, Stew, immediate and clear, and the narrative slices like a knife. You want to know how the heck this woman got caught in this cobweb in the first place.

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