The bathmat shuffle

A poem

Out of the shower. The floor is ice!
Need to get to the door
Towel damp, hair still dripping
Chuck a bathmat on the floor 

Toes scrunch the threads for grip
Its time for me to hustle
I shall manoeuvre, with grace and style
With the purple bathmat shuffle

B Philippe

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My fantasy novel ‘Diamond Spice’ is available here: