A yellow cloth in my hand, dust
on the bookshelf, I had promised
to do housework. “You never do
anything in the house” she says.
“From Dust to Dust”
Those particles could be my
ancestors, millions of them going
back before books were invented.
Perhaps they just sit there admiring
Me because I can read! A. B. C.
It’s easy really. They giggle and
shift when a sunray hits them.
Sorry folks you got to go, she wants
shiny surfaces, plastic mahogany.
Anyway, you’ll be back soon.
You always do.