686 - A flatful of dust

My sunlit screen’s all obscured by bright dust
Like blinding snowflakes frozen in mid-fall
The sun moves westwards as it always must
And now I’m finding that I can see all
As shadows mount the white screen and white wall
Goodbye sun, you’re no friend to thought process
You bring too much reality; you crawl
Into each dirty corner, dark recess
Training a spotlight on each filthy mess
Spilt food that’s hardened into yellow crust
In kitchen. Look at the floor in the hall
Such biodiversity. I’m impressed
Victorian-style cleaning maids, please just
Line up outside until you hear me call
Mon 21 July 2008