Waltzing With Eureka Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Mrs. Carolina spent most of her days
in the valiant deification and praise
of sanitation. The very elation

of wiring up the Eureka,
stopping to seek a
just-right attachment, a match meant

for heaven, yes sir.
And then the whirr,
like a purring cat, stirring that

sanctified feeling in her
that will occur
when she cleaning, leaning

her toward contentment
and resentment
of those who don’t see dirt, who hurt

the balance of things
with bathtup rings
and lint on the sheets. “Beats

being deadbeats, ” she purrs.
“Dust bunnies and cockleburs
make me ill. I will

not yield to the filth of the world, ”
she said as she twirled
around the floor,

waltzing with her upright gentleman,
Eureka.