Dirt Under The Heavens Poem by James McLain

Chrome wheel packages.
Someone's dirty little-known secret.
You thought-provokinglyless
behind-the-scenes it's said.
I will come to your priest's, butters better
at doing what you discover behind open doors.
Dirty laundry some weeks old
and the poseur border cheese odours.
The hole under the laundry hamper, hamlets made.
It has not moved since you placed it there.
And if your panties have holes in them,
the roaches ate the pastries left behind.
Disgusting middle fingers wag today.
You think, how did I not think of it sooner?
Soft sample period spelled relief.
And you I'm talking to you it is not stalking but.
Under your head the window I left open.