Dustbuster

Dust devil 

by Jeri Brown 

Tale spinner, 

intent to ensnare 

my fluff, humoring, 

agitating and vexing me. 

You get to me, visible, 

without relief. 

Common, maddened attraction, 

I abhor your invasion to my senses 

as you unload powdery earth 

sweeping tattered remnants wiping. 

You are still there hiding. 

Scram! 

Hurled and thrown down stairs, 

tucked in corners in sly cryptic places, 

languished in door-way crevices of cunning sinister scheme, 

I scoff as your poorly concealed presence unfolds each day, 

frying my brain. 

Wandering vagrant, 

wreaking havoc through recurring sequences, 

your woven fuzzy image cycles morality 

of stunning lasting-stamina, 

offending and condescending. 

Camouflaged, 

you boldly prance through my abode at will, 

an invader leaving your trail of disgust-dust,   

making your unwelcomed presence in unforeseen places, 

uninvited. 

Have you no voice? 

If only you could utter your disdain, 

your scorn. 

Dust bunnies, 

my foot! 

Cowardly and cunningly, 

you appear when least expected 

from gusty skyward wind bursts of cross and upward flows, 

to increase my instinctive sense of guilt; 

poor housekeeping. 

Dishes rattle as I spot you reposed in unforeseen places, 

affronting my awareness. 

“I just swept there.” 

Deft, jeering silent taunts of stunning, coy, corroded caresses, 

covert furry physics particles that pester your presence, 

with be-devilled heightened enkindle 

to jar my teetering flask as it spews forth, 

then abruptly shatters. 

Stomped, ripped, plugged in and turned on, 

alas, I hoover. 

Farewell! 

Eureka! 

Gone. 

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