The Cleaner Poem by Kevin Patrick

When I open the latch, the yards mined with crud
Dragging euphoria off of the wagon, and
Dispelling any notions of
First prize Hygiene

Frozen curly haired veins, trail pencil streams of yellow
And above the soft cotton summits
Are the pooches dirty bombs

This might be a shoulder strapped sardine lawn
But it's now an oasis cage of treacle

With muttering of annoyance, that disappears in the frigid winds of futility.
I gear up subserviently unilaterally surrendering to menial allegiance to the laws of pet owner conscription

It's a ritual this, wrapping my hands
In hermetically sealed gloves
And extracting congealed plastic bags
From infinity sized pockets
So that I can dutifully make the rounds
Cleaning up rotten debris



Of course it's never so easy
It's a hopscotch obstacle course of frozen viscera
Embedded in hoarfrost concrete
So, you have to delicately pry with a spade
Removing all the black dirigibles
Hoping parasitic debris didn't claw on your face


After dodging domestic landmines of effluvia
The patient dog owner
Becomes an amateur bomb disposal expert
Navigating hidden landmines drowned
In mosaic diamond carpets
Thus clearing the way for a truce with the neighbors


Sadly there's no meddles for domestic labours

Except from my four limbed comrade
Applauding with her snout and salutary tail

I don't need a parade for her love.