valentine's day

there are days
when you just start
cleaning, you don't
know why, or what makes
you go at it like
you do, but off you
go, with bucket
and mop, vacuum
buzzing on every rug,
all of those cleaning
liquids and sprays,
come out from under
the kitchen sink,
you've got the rags,
the broom, the polish,
dirt has no chance,
you even clean the oven,
pull everything
out of the fridge, those
hot sauce bottles
sealed shut with
their own goo, you toss
the meat wrapped
in foil that you'd
never eat anyway, bruised
fruit, brown lettuce,
bread like concrete
on the counter.
you break it up and toss
it into the woods for
the birds and squirrels,
and then the bathrooms,
the tub, you are on
your knees for an hour
in each bathroom,
you give the tiles, the
toilet, the sinks
the whatfor, it's like
in church when you were
a kid, getting the sin
out, the dirt and grime
off, it makes your knees
hurt, you make the beds
toss the sheets down
the steps, you do a load
of whites, smelling
the bleach, a load of
coloreds, you dry
everything, you fold
everything and carrry
the baskets up the stairs
to be put away, not
tomorrow, but now,
and finally you're
finished and you gaze
out the bright shiny
window that you just wiped,
you stare at the melting
february snow, and she
still hasn't called to wish
you happy valentine's day.