Poem: The Reproductive Cycle of Dust Bunnies | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

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Poem: The Reproductive Cycle of Dust Bunnies


They especially proliferate in the winter months.
Dust bunny mating seems to favor
the dry warmth from baseboard heaters.
Nesting pairs will find a dark and sheltered corner,
then spit out babies nonstop,
keeping me busy with my long-handled
butler’s broom and dustpan on the hardwood floors.
They’re very frisky, these dust bunny babies,
skittering away whenever my broom comes near.
Mornings, I attack the previous night’s crop,
sweeping up the flighty new babies, and also
what look to me like dust bunny corpses.
They should be thankful that I don’t always have
the time to haul out the vacuum cleaner—
but what good would it do?
By dinnertime there’s a whole new generation
beneath the dining room table.
Sometimes I go on safari with the vacuum,
seeking the critters out in every corner,
under every chair, behind every door. And
that seems to help, for a day or two, though
I get nasty emails from trolls who insist that
dust bunnies have rights, too,
and should be left to reproduce in peace.

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