It seems like the kind of day to clean.
Wake up fast, strip the bed to the mattress.
Gather up the loose t-shirts and twice used towels.
It seems like the kind of day where every
drop of dust needs to be laid down.
Sweep surfaces till gleaming,
vacuum and vacuum again,
lines going horizontal,
lines going vertically
as if they could reach the sky.
It seems like the kind of day
to take the broom to every
crinkle of the porch.
Dig behind the wicker chairs,
even lift the rocker to get under the legs.
It seems like the kind of day to scour
the pots, and lather up
every plate in the cabinet.
Especially the bright blue one.
Somehow, today, that one needs to shine.
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