I'm bothered about something,
but I don't know why,
or what for that matter-
maybe it was all the cleaning,
a year's worth of moldy things
from the back of the fridge.

Sticky, grimy and stinking things,
you'd be surprised the beasts
that lurk in the top of presses
and in the cracks
beside the dishwasher-

and though you go at them
with brush and bottle,
they've a tendency to rise again
unbidden, unbitten.

Maybe it was all the thinking,
cleaning is better than thinking-
so sleepless and at three am,
the house pristine,
I spill coffee on the carpet
just so I can do some scrubbing.

Maybe it was all the thinking,
cleaning is better than thinking,
though one is much like the other.