It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve done it before,

you still go back to that room.

It’s in your house, so,

when you clean, you must return.

There is nothing to clean but for

the dust flecks of scalp that you left,

when exiting the last time.

But you vacuum the carpet anyway.

No one else has tread upon the floor,

nor has anyone left nail or hair.

The door hasn’t been opened by another,

nor have you been in since the last time.

Yet you keep returning, to push the vacuum

over the blemish free carpet,

knowing no foot has stepped upon

the beige cloth but your own.

But it must be done, this rote act,

this strange, habitual routine

of siphoning non-existent dust,

dirt, and grime from an immaculate floor.

Why bother?  Why go through these steps?

What cleansing can possibly occur?

What purpose is in these pointless motions?

Why vacuum a perfectly clean carpet?

The only things being vacuumed from the room

are dirt from the footfalls of phantoms,

dust motes from the shed skin of shadows,

and droplets from fallen tears of ghosts.

Humbly yours,