hands
and knees and scrub
the mold
from the tub.
i go to the fridge next
and throw away
three half empty
ketchup bottles
and two
old pickle jars.
not to mention, six
bottles of salad dressing
i never use.
i dust.
vacuum.
beat a rug against the back
fence.
laundry.
wash and fold. put away.
i get the cobwebs
out of the basement.
stack books,
rearrange the clutter.
a place for everything.
then at last i go to the poetry
i've written on here
and delete about a hundred
poems i'd written,
no longer needed
therapy.
a clean sweep of angry
and revengeful
prose.
no trace, no crumb, no history
of the past.
the beating of a dead horse
at last over.
may it all rest in peace.
next.
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