by Jennifer Reeser

Behind the floating bathroom wall,
Something has gone rotten,
Unreachable, remote, sub-tub,
Defunct but not forgotten.
All day odor plays upstairs,
Then the scent will drift
Downstairs to the dining room
To work an evening shift,
Where it sees us slice our meat
Sliver by foul sliver—
How ironic, to obstruct
The taste of rot with liver!

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