Dust

Muscle spasms;
I attack the floor
to kill it
for peace-
to pacify.

But it merely rises
from its dormancy;
asphyxiates
the lot of us-
and settles again.

she doesn't use the broom.
She claims she's a witch
and that brooms
are for flying-
aren't for sweeping

Pretentious display,
We don't care.
her magic
scares the dust away-
when she's not looking

merely flakes of skin
seeking refuge
or hiding behind
nooks and crannies-
of intricate talismans

(Do we keep them there?)

Pity we live in a desert

and she thinks
they started it all.