I hold back the sun again
as I soap up the windows.
The daylight kept at bay.
Each Sunday brings reprise of
this most mundane ritual:
a regular exercise,
but one in futility.
Yet if not for my efforts
we'd be tsunami victims,
drowned in glossy magazines
and new credit card offers.
Everything was clean once.
Now, I am down on my knees,
sweeping up loose hair and crumbs.
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