who is that dancing on my peripheral?
that moving spectre that haunts my every move
behind this car or those
dead eyes, vacantly staring at the dishes

i move towards it scuttles away, cowers
cleaning the cobwebs of a luxurious life
that marks its existence.
irrelevant whether its a Maria or Nena or

YOU!
Pick Up The Kids Cook The Meals Lead
the unsavoury parts of my life for me;
I move on to town
my breakfast dishes behind.