sponge

A stupid little sponge. 

Who knew it held so much nostalgia? 

As a child, it wasn’t just a sponge to me - 

it was a submarine transporting 

small bubbles to the surface. 

I drowned the yellow boat and 

squeezed as tight as I could. 

I slowly unclenched my fist, 

filling each hole with scented water 

with hints of rinsed-off shampoo. 

 

I yank the soaked sponge out of the bath

As if I had pulled the catch of a lifetime. 

As the sponge hovered above, 

I was mesmerised by the liquid trickling,

then returning to the tub. Every time I lifted 

that sodden sponge above the water, it felt like the world stopped. 

All that could be heard was 

the gentle splashing of the water 

jumping out of the spongey doors.