The mulch is damp and clings to my boots

by tnsW3r · 13/12/2025
Published 13/12/2025 19:15

The mulch is damp and clings to my boots.

Everything here is the color of a bruise.

The slides are cold, sheet-metal tongues

waiting for a heat that isn't coming.


The wind catches the middle swing.

It doesn't fly; it just twitches,

the chains clinking like a dog on a short leash.


The black rubber seat is twisted,

catching a sliver of the neighbor’s porch light.

It looks like a mouth left open,

black and wet under the street lamp.

#industrial setting #isolation #melancholy #nighttime #urban decay

Related poems →

More by tnsW3r

Read "The mulch is damp and clings to my boots" by tnsW3r. One of the best and most popular poems on The Poet's Place. Discover more trending, inspiring, and beautiful poetry by tnsW3r.