what the vacuum cleaner sings

"Whatever is so offered you, accept with grace" 

(by 'waltzes with housework')


There's nothing so redundant
In this echo chamber, mine,
As mote-y little sarcasms
Of salt grains so fine.

Itsy-bitsy latitudes,
Whirling with obscurity.
Feigning earth's grandeur,
Yet crumbling with impurity.

You prance in sunlit swagger,
A dance of grime's disgrace,
In corners meek and sly
And yes: this is your place...

From dust to dust we all belong
But yet, we share a cup.
And while you whistle 'Dixie',
I will suck it up!

Round and round my belly
The pomp's reduced to fluff.
I sing of sweet oblivion -
You're never small enough!

Author's Note

This poem sucks.

Reviews

[Curly Grace]

This poem sucks. -Yes, in such a beautiful way.

[JustPlainHere]

Oh, I love the fun nature of this, which also cleverly masks a serious undercurrent. I love the image 'you prance in sunlit swagger' - as well as its golden alliteration. And I especially love the irony and impact of the last line! Lovely piece of writing.

[Lorry]

This could be about a lot of people I have met over the years, or maybe if I'm being honest then. Me too... especially if you misread the second verse as i did with the line itsy bitsy attitudes, like how everyone thinks their dream hust has to be heard to be believed, but when you do hear it it sounds dishwater dull, because it didn't happen in your head.
We are Al just motes of obscurity that think they will be the next big thing, which would make us what??? A crumb amongst all the motes of dust?
I think we all crumble with time. We return to the dust like everything else, even the sands of time getting smaller, ground into finer and finer particles.
Excellent wrote and in case you're wondering, vol recommended reading your work.

[Vol]

Lara,
When I was a regular reader at places like "Poetry in the Bean." in Nashville, the thing that set anyone apart was "voice," and most had found their own. It was a mature venue in the heart of a town occupied by a slew of colleges and Universities, so I suspect I got spoiled there. N. Scott Reynolds was the MC, and what a time we had! I think, if you were there, he'd have called you "ethereal." There is something I can't name in your word choices, syntax, rhythm... something quietly mysterious.
At the end, I kind of like your vacuum and it's musings, I don't know why, or... don't want to spend the time to go that deep. but I had a student once who in some incarnation might be a Roomba, a shy one who never did anything more than expected. Now she calls herself Volcanic Venus. My life has not been in vain.
I love this vacuum, it sucks the very best! I love this poem, it doesn't suck at all. It takes a powerful poet to make a vacuum sexy!
Vol

[Thomas W Case]

Powerful work. Great job. I like it.