Dust

Dust is us
Our scattered dead skin
Spread all over old pieces of furniture,
Looking the same, yours, mine, that of
The Greek lady who let us a room
And tried to rip us off,
Dust everywhere, not just hers
But also that of warriors, tourists,
Writers: everyone who ever stayed here
Who ever said foot in this Naxos place
Is spread over all the old furniture
And we all look the same
Whirling under the bed,
Us, scattered and forgotten.

Comments on: "Dust" (4)

  1. I wipe a finger on the mantlepiece.

    “Look,” I say, holding it up,

    “Joseph Conrad was here!”

  2. You dust bunny, me dust bunny…dust abhors a vacuum…

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