The Dance of Domestication
This dance of domestication moves me
through home, a silent specter with a brush,
to put some muscle behind scouring rush
to concentrate on step before ice tea.
We waltz with broom, past makers of the mess,
this broom has earned its right to partner here
the most flexible of my cleaning gear
our pirouette leaves audience to guess.
Each room a dance hall or a studio
an imaginary ballet teacher
to comment on my posture while I bleach.
Watch closely kids as I perform the show
the modern dance of dusting to feature
my dreams of stage always within my reach.
To re evaluate repeated act
these household habits turn to exercise
an extra boldened step to sanitize
to squarely push the logic of this fact.
This work requires a primitive love squat
or gentle pirouette with a toe drop
a chance to spin through chores and make time stop
this domesticated dance I’ve been taught.
This tub will need a balance of coccyx
or these floors could use a bit of soft shoe
the swing of partner during favorite waltz.
To pretend to dance as if in Tropics
when bleaching the germs within my loo
to leave a shine that covers all our faults.
The divinity of a la seconde
these dynamic habits we grow up with
to focus on my freestyle with each breathe
to find my mark within isolation.
Though dance becomes abstract when I fold cloths
an 8-count with every sleeve folded down,
in Ballroom swinging with a gorgeous gown,
a pile of denim blue constantly grows.
But our domestic dances bring accent
to life that sometimes may seem rather bland,
to grab my hand and hold me in slow dance.
With timing I release my discontent
with arching back I reach to sky with hand
so in my home I hold a stronger stance.