“I really need to dust the bedroom.” She said.
“Don’t get carried away.” He said.
Later…upon entering the bedroom to see books, perfume bottles, picture frames, and every knickknack that once had a home on a flat surface now strewn on the floor. And she now was vacuuming the ceiling fan blades.
“You might be overdoing it again.” He said.
“Don’t I always?” She said.
An Ode to Dust
O Dust thou art an unrelenting nemesis!
With grey opaqueness you boldly exist
Driving action, then reappearing mindless
That you were once gone, but now persists.
Ah, worthy opponent I avoid you once, no twice,
With unplanned tasks done in swirls of energy
The house never cleaner than it is now
Chores once laid fallow, now entice.
Did you purposefully force this cleaning soliloquy?
Secretly you reign and humbly I bow.
“You should submit this to the New Yorker.” He said.
“Why, is it that hard to understand?” She said.