Maybe it was just the four year hiatus,
Or the fact that I have but one area rug,
But every week when it’s time to vacuum,
I get excited.
The wool carpet sheds like an animal,
Covering my house in maroon tufts.
And though many of them come up in the mop,
The real payload is in the vacuum canister,
A dusty mass of fibers,
Like an enormous hamster.
This probably is on the same level of twisted pleasure
As popping zits.
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