Readying the Rag

Come to think of it, we’re not
Lost, said the dust, having returned
Home to the coffee table, cresting

Now on that morning’s water rings,
Squatting on the broad banks
Of the Big Book of Rivers & Streams

And in the (dust)bowl of hand-
Painted apples and pears. Tribes
Of other grime loitered in the air,

Unsure of where to come to rest,
Noticing the woman of the house
With her cleaning rag and spray can

Of Pledge—O vision of apocalypse!
Then the phone rang, and she began
To laugh in her mad, hysterical

Way, pure henchwoman, laughing
And listening, readying the rag,
Waiting for all the dust the settle.

copyright 2007 Jon Ballard
bio
Barnwood magazine
Contents 07