The Shrinking Room

Dear friends,

Below is a poem called "The Shrinking Room". I do not normally attempt to write poetry, but there is a long story I am working on for which one of the main protagonists is a magic poet. Hopefully within the context this one helps to establish her motivations and so on. That's what I was going for anyway. I realise I have been updating quite a lot lately. If it wasn't obvious, it's because there are exams I am supposed to be revising for.

Sitting in the living room, living,

thinking perhaps about bedtime or breakfast or washing the dishes,

you glance up from your former locus of attention,

shake your head, disbelieve, surely not,

as the walls now appear rather closer acquainted,

Ignore! Return post haste to your crossword puzzle or book.

But you can't long resist the urge to inspect,

just to check that your senses are not incorrect,

then a dooming boom echoes noiselessly on your hollow inside,

the room is shrinking in size,

dust starts to lift as the masonry shifts,

but there you just sit.

Nonplussed you fuss over why you should rust,

while your imploding abode swiftly swallows you up,

but rust you must as though trussed up,

by cords of indifference, impotence,

passivity and pathos.