(with all appropriate deference to Shakespeare and Lady MacBeth)
“Out, out damned spot!”
she bellowed at the cloth.
Little did she know
it would someday be so easy
to wipe away
the stain of blood
as if
it never
existed.
Not only strains on cloth—
but those intractable stains
that appear on tile and porcelain, too.
“Out, out damned spot!”
she bellowed into the mirror.
Scrubbing furiously at her soul,
trying to cleanse it
of the stain
they left behind.
If only there were a product for such stains
This poem,even with its serious tone, made me smile. Perhaps in recognition of the emotion explored?
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