Smut

—a small flake of soot or other dirt

Oxford English Dictionary

To say my brand-

new book of poems is

just a magnet for the

dust

is an egregious

understatement.

It’s the maid

in fishnet stockings, feathers

in her hand, bending

over with a twerk,

whenever I enter the

office.

It’s the Swiffer

that’s ascending to the

ceiling (comprised of

teasing glass)—

dander thudding

upon its clarity

like a lark.

It’s the Dirt

Devil

drafted into service—

like the cavalry

on horseback,

fire from its nostrils,

its tail of red

that’s locked into

the socket, coiled

like a serpent,

because nothing else

can gather up the

mites, their hunger

never chuffed.

If they stopped to view

my scribbles they might be

fans, foregoing their all-

day breakfast

just to read my absurdity— 

like this, for instance,

where they line

up on the shelf

like an ellipsis

that is endless, half a trillion

strong, little pens and

paper in their hands, awaiting

my autograph—

and one who lifts her

skirt, imploring me to

sign her naughty thigh.

©2025 Andreas Gripp

RF Photo