Down

The dryer has a sneaker in it. Thump-shh. Thump-shh.

It’s a rhythmic headache I can’t turn off.

I found the paper on the folding table,

someone’s frustration left behind for me to find.

14-Across: 'A feeling of permanence.' Seven letters.

They tried. They really tried for a second.

But then the pen went wild—a black, angry knot

covering the squares until the blue ink bled through,

staining the wood underneath like a permanent bruise.