Cleaning

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CLEANING


Dizzying thing about days is how

they exist in a Dyson, the now

hopelessly wrapped around 


the spinning spool like pet hair

whirling in perpetuity. But then,

no doubt the bag grows heavier 


with every pass, confirming 

our suspicion that yesterday did, 

in fact, come to pass, if at the last 


so much dust. And somewhere

at the far end of the room the cord

will soon grow tight like a chest, 


suddenly yanking from the wall 

to drench everything in an uncanny 

still. Still, on this drab October


Tuesday in the living room, hope 

scoots stubbornly along in front 

of things, refusing to be sucked up.


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