this house is overrun with illness, with disease, with plague ridden rats
the shoelaces on her favorite pair of shoes are chewed to the bone, the shoes to the soles
there are cobwebs hanging on peeling walls
termites, ants, and spiders crawl up to the ceiling, up into the chimney
soot clogging the lungs of tiny minds
the floor is creaking and cracking and breaking as little feet patter on its surface
there’s an odor so foul the neighbors complain that it’s unsanitary
but the maid can’t work as hard as the diseases, as fast as the creepy crawlers lay eggs
her mop is too ***** to cleanse any more creases, her broom is covered in corpses and skeletons of bugs and rodents
the duster collecting ash while sitting still in place
high-pitched wailing circulating the entire residence, cries coming from children getting bitten as screeching opera music chants
blowing out eardrums as we speak, as i move my fingers left to right
in a clean, quiet, peaceful house in a safe suburban neighborhood
couple blocks from the nicest people, surrounded by family and friends and american flags and freedom dangling from every soft-spoken mouth
what do i have to complain?