Ode to the Summer Houses of Maine

The fog in the couches
the white slurry salt cellar
sticky sand carpets
and cold clammy bedsheets
lured by black mold spores to live
in the wetness
by proffering coastline
they've caught us and tamed us
we build them near endless new surface to cover
we feed them our crumbles and towels and mattresses
We are the
mold slaves
the dumb mildew servants
we scrub when we get there but why, is the question
the moisture is stronger mold whispers
the mildew
seeks dark spots
and waits out our bleaching