The legend of the sweeper and the broom
Darn, dust buster!
It doesn’t give a dust ball a chance.
Especially if you’re a big fluffy,
not a speck in place,
looking wild and dangerous,
No cracks to fit in,
no corners to hide in.
Only under beds; reachable.
Dressers; accessible, most times.
Hallways? Are our highways, yeehaw!
Skimming and rolling down the hallway
with the window open, back to our fluff.
Until you hear the sounds of the modern times…
Doors get opened and closed,
along with all the windows.
You shutter more sideways than before,
When you hear the Velcro strap
scratching as it nudges itself into place.
It’s every particle for itself at that point;
and know, you’ll be blindsided
by a silent hand-held
[nuclear powered ] laser sighting, dust buster.
POOF! You are now microscopic radioactive
particles, that can be swept away
with a passing footsteps’ breeze.
Hey! It can get you, from five feet away!
But, you know the rest of the story…
we either find each other or
we are part of a new “dustly” family),
collecting as we go “underground”.
Sometimes meeting the last part of ourselves;
or a completely new dusty mutant.
Dog hair, cat hair, gray hair,
mouse hairs, pennies and old buttons
scratched from existence; for living there.
Fine! Hear me out on this one!
Darn particle busters don’t give us enough time
to collect! And, you know they are upgrading,
As their owners become vacuumed sealed.
I‘ve heard legends about
the love of the broom.
it say’s it only pushed us
further upward and away. And the sweeper
would chase us but, finally to pick us up,
and, throw us into the fresh air;
For the birds that needed our aid.
It’s tough being a dust ball in this day and age.
Its purpose and our cooperation
in our existence,
trying not to feel gloom,
not to become extinct,
along with the sweeper and the broom.