Ava's Blog Post

CLEANERS

Cleaners come every wednesday, to dust and drum

On shaved shelves shadowed by germs and mud

And rugs weary with blood from pinky crumbs

Blood I have dripped from people's thumbs

When they tell me how helpless, harsh and humorless

My being appears as they drink beer and smear

Looking down on my job-- not their preferred career,

So I take their tireless title and their polished ears

Drag their lobes as they gag, forcing them upstairs

Prick their skin, like bubblegum and watch them say their prayers

And then remove them from their chairs and bury them downstairs

Occasionally I doubt my intentions, let guilt ration my insides 

Sometimes it's hard to see their families cry, shrivel and barely make it by

But I continue to drag, drip and let them die

Because l will forever let the cleaners come while I remain the  bad       guy