24 September 2010

housework

I hate it,
I hate being told what
I should do
to fit in as a good
little housewife,
but I know
what's good enough
for me isn't
good enough for other people.
Hoovering up spiders.
The dust bunnies
under my bed are
pre-mammalian,
a grey and fibrous
slime mould rearing its
head and looking
for more salubrious surroundings.
They reach their fingers
into my nose
and creep, creep,
so as not to waken
the sneeze reflex, creep
down my airways as
if seeking their
primordial swamp.
They should have hung
a left, and headed
for my brain.
Who would want to
tackle such a creature?
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