Wet Weight

Pulled it from the drum,

forgotten for days.

A cold, damp slab, dumb

in mildewed haze.

Felt the dense bulk fall,

dripping on my toes.

Another small, small

task that nobody knows

just sits there, soaking,

heavy, not quite clean.

Another thing choking

what could have been.

Just a towel, sure,

but it felt like a stone.

A lingering cure

for being all alone

with everything left.

Every damp, sour thing.

Unmoored, bereft,

not meant to sing.