I’m made of old skin and yucky stuff.
You can clean all day. It’s never enough.
I collect and clump. The havoc I create
absorbs your projected rage and hate.
With subtle poise I get up your nose.
You sneeze. You curse. A life decomposed.
I lurk. I linger. I’m a puffball of shame
that with your duster you think you can tame.
But I’ve got a special kind of knack
To outlive all threats of attack.
Mop, sponge or sucking vacuum,
I’m stubbornly stronger than a sweep of your broom.
So leave me be. Leave the dust to the dead.
For today, go out and be yourself instead.