writing her name in the dust

as i swat

a tumbleweed across

the living room

floor

and toss a load of laundry

down the steps,

i wonder

what's happened to Milagro,

my cleaning

lady.

what have i done

to upset her.

she's a hot head

at times,

but this is ridiculous.

it's been two

months since

she came to clean.

was it the no Christmas

tip,

in the greeting card?

no sodas

and chips in the fridge?

she's ghosting me,

ignoring my

calls.

i write her name

with sadness in the thick

dust,

layered

on the cabinet in the hall.