Broom Life
Curious object, this.
A broom turns up in disparate places,
knowing well
dark dusty corners
lure both dirt
and children of shame,
adults of guilt,
and homeless spiders homesteading.
Left by itself,
a broom is akin to a hardwood tree
in the landscape of the poor.
In books,
one is apt to find a broom
as a witch’s transportation,
or a prophetic sign of death,
revealing this tool has a secret life.
In public,
they convey their useful age,
like the worn and weary janitors
of office and business upkeep.
But often ignored,
are the worn-out brooms grandmothers
use to sweep dust from last year
into the new year,
and grandfathers pulling out a straw
to pick their teeth.
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Reminded me of the time a screech owl came down my fireplace chimney twice during a terrible winter storm. I captured him nicely from a high drapery rod by placing my broom under his feet. When he stepped on the broom, I carefully lifted him (he was light as a feather) to the kitchen door, where I held him out in the wind and had to tip the broom upside down before he would let go and fly away. Ten minutes later, he was back in the house and I had to repeat the maneuver.
Ron
budd
Love ya!
Jane