The Vacuum By Howard Nemerov

red moon during night time

The house is so quiet nowThe vacuum cleaner sulks in the corner closet,Its bag limp as a stopped lung, its mouthGrinning into the floor, maybe at mySlovenly life, my dog-dead youth.I’ve lived this way long enough,But when my old woman died her soulWent into that vacuum cleaner, and I can’t bearTo see the bag swell …

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