Old, useless rooms

The room is
dusty with the
dust of many ages
and it is permanent.
It was there in the 80s
when I loved my
children so.
One by one,
I watched them go
and they rarely come back now
for now I am wrinkled and unpresentable. And the dust
remains there.
Whose hands shall
clean it out?
Surely not mine!
Not these old, youthless
limbs of mine, coldly numb
as they are.
Forgotten and despised
by life’s endless spasm
of things, beings – little
ones from the arduous 80s
that still flourish


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