Dust

I wiped the dust off one of the towel racks in my bathroom a few days ago. Today, I looked and saw the very same towel rack covered in dust. It drove me to compose this poem. Yes, this is what you’re subjected to when my energy is restored due to several days off.

Dust

Dust, you are my mortal enemy
Why must you torture me so
No sooner have I rid my world of you than you can’t help but reappear
Dust, made of my cells, of my flesh
We are one and the same
Yet you lie in wait to offend me
To drive me mad with your ubiquity
I lie my cloth down in defeat
You’ve won this battle
But the war has not yet ended

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