For about a year now, I haven’t washed my kitchen window. Disgraceful, eh? Actually, it’s ok, because I live half way to the sky, so no one sees how filthy it’s getting and the inside of the kitchen is spotlessly clean. Like accumulations of filth everywhere, this one was crying out to be written into. One day, I wrote something pertaining to the dirt that had built up, with a hint of a pun, and it remains printed on the glass to this day. I waited for the right time to take a picture of the insignificant visual pwoermd that emerged and last week that time came, just in time for InterNaPwoWriMo.
Soon I may have to wash my window clean, as all dirty words should be washed clean, and the glass will no longer be a canvas for filthy extemporised pwoermds. But worry not – there is a door of a building on a busy main street near me which hasn’t been washed in donkeys years, and already my poetic finger is hovering over it.
Another three to get the ball rolling: