Bad Juju

I wake with an angry headache
And remnants of a strange dream
Of a house I’ve never been to
It’s a little ranch
Or maybe a large trailer
But what I can remember most
Is just this one room
It has old, orange shag carpet
The closet doors are mirrors
Behind the door to the room
There’s a camera or magnifying device
Pointed into the room
And a latch lock is attached
But from outside of the room.
The room is full of boxes and junk
But in the closet door mirrors
It appears mostly empty.
It’s not until I’m writing about it now
That I remember
The bedrooms in Ron’s trailer
Both had orange shag
And mirrored closet doors
And it was strange the first time I was there
That first night I couldn’t sleep
And the next morning after he left
I sat down at the table to write
On a yellow legal pad
Because my mind was swimming with potential scenarios
Of who used to live there
In such a dirty
Cobweb draped mess.
I found old leather baby shoes
In the back of a kitchen drawer
The whole place felt like sadness to me
Unlike any other place I’ve been to
And I came back later to clean
But I should have saged the place instead.

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