When I came back from class my roommate’s cup

had wandered over to my side. The sink

was buried in his toiletries. Cleanup

is not in his vocab. The bathroom stink

was lingering and spreading through the room.

The trashcan overflowed onto the floor

covered with crumbs. He doesn’t own a broom.

The sweeping, scrubbing, straightening are my chores.

And what does he do? Leave used plates and stuff

all over everything. At least we don’t

have ants right now. I’ve almost had enough.

Could he be bribed? Should I give up? He won’t

be changing soon. Maybe I should move.

But he is good about one thing, putting up with me.

 

Poetry

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