Word of the Day Poem: Mysophobia – a dread of dirt or filth.

The Pit

There you stand, watching
as we dip ourselves in the mud.

Our hair, plastered brown swimcaps
Our teeth, gleaming and whiter than toothpaste commercials.

Each crevice covered, each fingertip slops and goops

You never choose to step into the pit,
as you call it.
Your clothes are pristine, your slacks pressed
and cuffed above your shoes.

Your pocket square is bleached and ready
To dab at any flick of muck that makes it way to you.

Oh sure, you’ve been brought here before,
but your teeth never gleamed.

Your trepidation astounds us
the mud clears the pores
it unifies,
it scrubs away the stark purity of assumption

But you’ll never know that until you try.
Your mysophobia shone like a neon sign
As you screamed and clawed against us

Before we tossed you in headfirst.

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One thought on “Word of the Day Poem: Mysophobia – a dread of dirt or filth.

Talk at me while I eat

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