Poem: 'Cleaning'

 by Megan A

i spray a counter with harsh

antiseptic

and wipe it down with a metal scourer,

and i am born to believe

that this counter will still be

impurified by a speck of dust, and

i 

won’t

notice.

i am born to believe that

i am supposed to notice

and if i don’t, i am mindless.

they hide things with 

intent of deceiving:

what happens then? when 

i

don’t

notice?

do i remain the speck of dust

on the acid scathed counter?

or am i expected to pour the

chemical myself?

when i adopt a 

truly callous disposition

you can try to cleanse me.

until then i

won’t

notice

you.

rewind a few years

to when the world was

light and only light

no lessons no meaning

no nothing

then i was taught and

i

didn’t

understand.

today, i choose not to 

understand.