Sophie's colors, part 3

I think the value of writing poetry, even if you have no intention of becoming a poet, is that it forces you be succint and vibrant in your word choice. Plus, writing every day is always a good exercise.

Here's my entry for today.

Part 3:

Knock on orange door --
Nobody is there
Except Sophie, who has
Grown tired of fresh air

Sophie’s muddy paws
On cream carpet don’t mix
So she covers her tracks
With some well-placed sticks

Sneaky Sophie
Surfs the counter stone gray
She swipes a napkin
And squirrels it away