small thinking

I take the broom out
to sweep
some pettiness away.

it falls like
dust, webs into the corner
of my mind
at times.

a yellow silt
on
everything.

I get out the vacuum,
the brush,

the pan.
I clean up the residue
of small old thinking.

a rag, a mop,
a bucket.

I go at it. just when you
think
it's gone

it finds a crack in the door,
or window
left ajar

and finds a way in.