Pink footprints of various sizes lead
up to the bathroom door
Where they give way to magenta puddles
on the milk-white floor
I smile at the laughter outside, but shudder
at the cries of “encore”
Armed with a mop, a bucket, and phenyl
I play Holi once more!
The colour refuses to get out of my cuticles and ears, both of which are sore with endless washing (Lady Macbeth-ishtyle)
Call me Pinkspill.
2 comments:
Lovely! Thank you for making me smile on a horrid workday
reminds me of a nonsense rhyme from childhood...
inky pinky ponky
father had a donkey
donkey died
father cried
inky pinky ponky
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