Finding my senses (poem)

I hear the rasping sound of a grasping  salesman

Who uninvited, insinuates himself

Down my phone.

I see the greasy residue of unrestrained dripping

Leaving their snails trails

I NEED FAIRY LIQUID!

I smell the warm sunlight woven into the worn strands

Of a tapestry cushion

Threadbare

I taste the sharp acid taste that touches my jaw

in a wincing way.

Ouch

I feel the sunny crackling of old age

Biting into what is left of my youth

I am alive

Lynda M Roberts 2020

Thanks

Images from Here

Cushion

Lemons

Old age