dust collector (poem)

It collects on my eyelashes and no matter how much I brush, rub, and bat, the dust always appears to come right back. From my very tip top and on down to my toes I gather this dust like an old object set a stow. While some collect dolls and others rare coins, not me, for I collect remnants that only keen eyes can see. From every shoe scuff to head scratch, I’ll collect it all in a matter of lickety-split splat. Right here, on my lashes, does it settle on in, collect and accumulate as my day starts to grow thin. And then when the night winds to a close, I’ll lay back and unpack the heavy load burdened by each and every last lash owned. My eyes feeling droopy, but finally relieved for their tireless task of collection is now eased. ‘No more responsibilities’ is a guarantee that for now they can relax and assure tranquility. Rest floods over the last of the light and we’re reminded that with every passing day comes a brand new night.