Shell out some money

Shell out some money
For a limbo contest
See how low you can go

The children are nowhere to be seen
Nor can you hear their rattles
Their laughter

Slide through the ring of spectators
Snapping images on their phones
Pit yourself against yourself

The children are safe
No blades are in their reach
No pills to be swallowed

The spectators gasp at your prowess
After the contest, slip some money to the concierge
To make sure your sheets are turned down

That same night, not in a hotel
Their children go to sleep on cots
No arms folded around them for comfort

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the twelve words of Wordle 357 at The Sunday Whirl.

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