Thousands of poems describe doors:
Doors symbolic or metaphoric,
Old doors, gold doors,
Doors that never open;
And forests have been leveled
On the plenitude of verse
Heralding swords and guns.

With the right agent,
Plus a pleasing profile,
Even such homely objects
As baths and beds,
Kettles and shoes,
Have infiltrated
The finest publications.

But what about the rest of us?
Toothbrushes, nail clippers,
Hair-dyes, cheese graters,
Spatulas, fire extinguishers?!
Where are our odes, our sonnets?
Who yearns to write the ballad
Of a soap dish?

(First published in Rune Literary Journal)

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