Almost Clean

 

The old farmhouse windows painted shut

Wavy glass with four panes held together

By hardwood strips shedding white flakes

 

Air inside in measured climate

No breezes visit bringing a clean draft

Bugs enter through unnoticed cracks

 

It is the floor dust she ponders when

Making the queen bed each day

New showings of endless shades of gray

 

Occasionally vacuumed and always

Reached for to drop in the waste

Fuzzy clumps swept with a toe to grab

 

Where does this come from she demands

Out loud to no one but the house

Sealed windows are not talking

 

Not willing to ask friends generously

Blessed with cleaning ladies who

Work only with understandable motes

 

That she be judged for her corners

Queries to the old walls reflect not a

Concern for tidiness nor hygiene

 

It is her curious mind needing to solve

This mystery of immigrant fragments

If only to keep the house almost clean

 

Tobe TT  # 3