Today's poem is by Alice Friman
The lawn rolled back like a rug
in thick jellyrolls of sod
to be rolled back, flat again
as if nothing had happened.
What happened was dust, sealing
off one more job. I tell you,
there's no getting rid of it.
Beat your carpet back to thread.
Mop a floor, wash rocks. It waits
pale and timid lullabyes
of fluff collecting themselves
in the dark, under your bed,
along baseboards. Bits of you,
yes, your skin, your hair, making
wee dollies with your name stored
in the sweeper bag, starting
another each time you throw
one out. Behind you, listen
linty breath. There's no escape.
Fly to Rio, book a cruise.
Dust follows. No, no, you say.
Tonight belongs to thunder,
to rain sloshing in, blinding
as car wash. Tomorrow's sun
promising a clean green world
bright as varnished lettuce. Oh?
Will it pass the white-glove test?
There's reason for the shiver
down the horse's rump. Slap it.
Watch the dust rise. See him run.
Copyright © 2006 Alice Friman All rights reserved
from The Book of the Rotten Daughter
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved