Creative License 2017

The Dictator
by Kaila Glass
The whirring of my laptop sings from the corner of my bedroom.
Its red, dusty frame is nestled beneath my bookshelf,
A simple, dark wooden guardian,
Its contents a colorful array of knowledge –
Bright greens, calm blues, and loud yellows: stickers that read USED SAVES.
Though I am trapped by four walls of lifeless white,
I find solace in the irresistible musk of paperbacks.
My radio clock changes its color every second –
Each hue melting into the next –
Like a hungry child’s tongue on Halloween.
The clock plays lazy coffee shop tunes,
And the click-clacking of my keyboard keeps the beat.
It ceases briefly as I scan my room:
The floral comforter and grey bed sheets are in a constant, heated argument;
The overflowing wire trash bin and makeshift laundry basket are on the verge
of munity;
And the white linoleum floor is drowning in poverty.
With a shrug of my shoulder, the click-clacking resumes.
10 CREATIVE