poems, prose and
other pretty words
© 2010-2014
Chel Mercado

                        Apartment Cleaning

					 
I hold back the sun again
 as I soap up the windows.
The daylight kept at bay.

Each Sunday brings reprise of
this most mundane ritual:
a regular exercise,
but one in futility.

Yet if not for my efforts
 we'd be tsunami victims,
drowned in glossy magazines
and new credit card offers.

Everything was clean once.
Now, I am down on my knees,
sweeping up loose hair and crumbs.