Untitled Poem #7

I’ve been cleaning again;
It is a reward to myself
For cheating death.

I organised the albums
I bleached the sink and cut the nails

Of the lawn on my knees.
The daffodils are resisting.
Bread does not rise with a corpse in the kitchen.

I have a conspiracy theory:
Particles are added to polish
Which after I’m done allure dust and grease.

Similar scientists shot men to the Moon,
But not yet any women;
They will shoot them on Mars one day soon,

Yet baboons at the zoo
Masticated bags for lunch,
Ethylene red, white and sometimes blue,

Which my leaders could not recycle.
There are less post offices now
Since we dispensed with writing letters.

Outside, Spring has woken the workers;
I’ll sanitise the windows awhile,
Prepare a curry, and sleep.