Broom

Marni Ludwig

My floor is shining because it is fire.

My ceiling is shining because it is air.

You are sweeping the future ahead of you

like luck. It's ok, no one's listening

to the laugh track of your life.

The sick call in their jokes,

but they remember them wrong.

There's the one about the three stick-men

and their drinks, and there's the doctor

who knocks but never enters.

The sick call in. You lick your cobwebs

and the corners glitter. Everyone cares

though there is no one who is clean.

I am not compelled to help,

resting as I am, on the doorjamb（门侧柱）

of your perfectible world.