Five years ago I got out
of vacuuming for two weeks
because that heap of plastic poofed
its dust and plagues into the nasal paths
of hackers and wheezers.
Wal-mart afforded me a new one
at half the cost of an inhaler.
And in another few months
I was on vacuum-free vacation again.

Then, my husband bought me a Kirby
G6 - micron magic and hepa bags,
chrome encasement, a complete set of attachments
and a suction that could lipo-slim Roseanne.
But, a lifetime warranty? Absurd.

I babied its newness for a few weeks,
then eased it into abuse - banged its head
against doorjambs, furniture and walls.
It became a daily craze to see if that demonic robot
could be destroyed, switching it from upright to canister,
juicing it up-down, on-off. Powerhead to hose
to powerhead. Back and forth,
push, pull, shove. Slaughtering cobs
and bumping-off bunnies, working overtime
to clog the throat of that bastard. You Kirby

are the cause of mad housewives. I think
sparkling air and immaculate homes
are ridiculous. My husband thinks it's hilarious
to make jokes like "suck it up".
He knows not what he says.