A HOUSE WITHOUT WASTEBASKETS
by blackbiped
Imagine a house that was bereft
Through negligence, or sloth, or theft
Of anyplace where you could stash
The things that qualify as trash.
Upon the floor, there'd soon be mounds
Of orange peels, and coffee grounds
Or diapers, if you have a tot
Or beer cans, if you drink a lot.
You'd have to slowly weave your way
Through refuse mazes every day
O'er garbage hurdles you would leap
Past trash stalagmites you would creep.
A stench would quickly fill each room
More awful than the dankest tomb
A smell no single nose could hold
Of rotting food, and filth, and mold.
And in the bathroom, you'd despair
While wading through the clumps of hair
And toilet paper which was stained
With things your body once contained.
As time went by, your garbage man
Would wonder why your empty can
Was never filled with things to chuck
Into the back end of his truck.
Of houseguests, you would soon have none
As word got out to everyone
That, unlike Prince, or Donald Trump,
You haunt a rat-filled garbage dump.
And then, a fate which must be faced
When finally the heaps of waste
Would reach the ceiling, filling all
With no room left for you to crawl,
And no room left for you to lodge
Except the doghouse or garage
With ev'ry room packed to the brim
With crud through which you'd have to swim.
Until, within this living hell
You could no longer bear to dwell
And, if you somehow found the door,
You'd leave it to return no more.
And as you wandered, you'd recall
The discount store inside the mall
Where, if you'd only thought to ask it
They'd have sold you a wastebasket.
by blackbiped
Imagine a house that was bereft
Through negligence, or sloth, or theft
Of anyplace where you could stash
The things that qualify as trash.
Upon the floor, there'd soon be mounds
Of orange peels, and coffee grounds
Or diapers, if you have a tot
Or beer cans, if you drink a lot.
You'd have to slowly weave your way
Through refuse mazes every day
O'er garbage hurdles you would leap
Past trash stalagmites you would creep.
A stench would quickly fill each room
More awful than the dankest tomb
A smell no single nose could hold
Of rotting food, and filth, and mold.
And in the bathroom, you'd despair
While wading through the clumps of hair
And toilet paper which was stained
With things your body once contained.
As time went by, your garbage man
Would wonder why your empty can
Was never filled with things to chuck
Into the back end of his truck.
Of houseguests, you would soon have none
As word got out to everyone
That, unlike Prince, or Donald Trump,
You haunt a rat-filled garbage dump.
And then, a fate which must be faced
When finally the heaps of waste
Would reach the ceiling, filling all
With no room left for you to crawl,
And no room left for you to lodge
Except the doghouse or garage
With ev'ry room packed to the brim
With crud through which you'd have to swim.
Until, within this living hell
You could no longer bear to dwell
And, if you somehow found the door,
You'd leave it to return no more.
And as you wandered, you'd recall
The discount store inside the mall
Where, if you'd only thought to ask it
They'd have sold you a wastebasket.
Last edited by: blackbiped 02/02/08 21:56:39.
Edited 1 times.
