Compulsive Vacuuming Poem by Julia Luber

And all our traumas, rages, and bad memories and fears-
has to go into chronic cleaning: my gentlemen and Dears.
Yes, those little white flecks like dandruff somehow creeping up on a rug.
And that dust, and blocky stuff near the fridge that you used to kind of shrug.
Single strands of hair in weird places like the kitchen and fridge are preparing
for a murder to happen here, and to somehow know how to retain that killer's
evidence DNA materialized fear: And where this stuff comes from, I have no idea.
Weird threadbare carpet pieces, weird balls of clothes and hair and little flicks of
popcorn perhaps. And all kinds of stuff that I don't know what it is in fact.

Vacuuming. Vacuuming. Everyday and all of the time.
The aggressive sound and noise of that vacuuming might as well be mine.
That din, that rageful scream, all bound in a hum for life to seem:
ordered, in some way. In some slight chance. At least today.