It starts like everything starts
Like the way mother would wipe your face
A corner of a moistened handkerchief
The dirt washed away leaving a clean spot
Amongst the grime of a day at play

You begin with a mop, once one corner sparkles
It all begins to rumble out of control
You polish away grease stains, dust
Take a scrubbing brush to ground in stains

File photographs from over-filled drawers
Tidy like a maniac, obsessed by clean
As the clutter finally begins to stutter into order
You find forgotten things beneath piles of papers

You end the day exhausted
All glass work gleams, the layered dirt of ages
Has been removed, re-ordered, renovated
The mildly haunting whiff of desperation
Has been replaced by strawberry-scented febreze