Late at night, the roads
in the Brave Little Knight’s room
are far from safe.
Paved with the broken bones of old toys
and potholes the size of mounds of clothes,
the streets bespeak a ghost town
where the townspeople
don’t drink the water for fear of disease
and would rather eat mousetrap bait
than take a chance on the pavement.
The are some evenings when
dust bunnies roll by
on the empty sidewalks,
but even they do not stay for long;
for the room was claimed by the Gods of Dirt,
and our sire’s bedchamber is decorated
with the casualties of a battle
waged since before the squire’s birth:
An unpaired sock breathed his last
ages ago on the mantelpiece,
yet his body remains as a haunting reminder
of a more sanitary time.
There sits an unwanted Christmas gift-
contortionist in the corner of the room-
and a lonely page of a book-never-opened
looms under a mirror.
Little do they know,
the beasts below,
the demons that feast on debris and grow,
those evil imps of entropy unknown will be
beaten clean by the hygienic hero.
Twice a year or so, the knight awakens in his
sleeping quarters to find a room
run by the untidy mafia
and hardly a square inch of floor space
to place his feet upon.
Like always, the errant-child is surprised
to discover that a crime was committed
right under his nose,
and though he should have smelled
that something was off,
the brave boy didn’t even notice.
he takes up his weapon of war:
A trusty vacuum cleaner steed
complete with swiffer attachment.
With the power of Mr. Clean,
Scrubbing bubbles and Bounty combined,
the brave vanquisher of mayhem
sends messmakers running behind piles of laundry.
The disorder demons won’t
accept defeat easily though,
and even when the Quixote dispatches
his four horsemen of sanitation
into the trenches of clothes,
he comes up empty handed.
This game of smoke and mirrors
between chaos and order
is hardly close to checkmate;
although the fate of all life
is eventual disarray,
at least the brave knight
has kept his bedlam at bay.
At least until next spring.
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