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The messy room

He was not a reader, says the one book in his room on his dresser with the cologne by the door;
An unorganized man too, says the clutter on his desk by the window; and a game playing kid, say the
rows of games on his shelf by the TV, bright with their cases; but not a man for art, says
the paper filled with bad drawings on his desk

A dog lived with him, says the bed spotted with fur and the floor covered with dogs toys.
And he had a cat, says the litter box made from plastic. He was athletic, says the
Soccer equipment thrown around his room and sealed in sports bags. And the rooms
hot, says the fans next to the bed. It was a bright room, says the painted wall.

Someone was late, says the door left slightly ajar. An unmade bed says he did not have the time;
The still open water bottle says he left in a rush. And the room was left a mess with paper
Scattered on the floor—a page of homework, a syllabus with a signature, a poem
for English. Someone was late, they say.





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