Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Gone But Not Fur-gotten

Just a quick scratch
On the neck or back
Sunlight shares that
There's hundreds of hairs 
With dust motes they sashay
Then they gather and play
Across freshly swept floors
Completely ignor-
ing any efforts to remove,
Reduce or extinguish them
No matter the weapon
There's no win
Once this battle begins
It sticks to the broom
It clogs the vacuum
And someday when
Archaeologists exhume
The remains of this room
What they'll find there
Will be mounds of hair

In response to the "Hairy" prompt from Poetic Asides


Your words are wonderful! Thanks for popping in--I'll be over in a snap!