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Spring Cleaning Espionage

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I will have to move the bed

now that you’re gone.

Instead of sleep, I fall to the floor,

staring up through the eyes

of the dust bunnies who used to

 

watch you watch me try to find

the right clothes to wear.

I never noticed there were

so many of them in here,

sneaking about the wooden floors,

 

hiding in the corners, pretending

not to hear us debate what day to drive

up North, how long I would have

to work that night, who won at darts,

whether or not I cheat at air hockey.

 

After I move the bed, my dresser

too will have to thrust through

the spies of dust

who know too much.

From there, my vanity will follow.

 

They’re hard to control,

these calculating dust bunnies.

I catch them into little piles,

but they always escape

to drift back across the floor.