Day Twenty Five Poetry:
Ode to a Broom (Revised!)
Your sturdy handle,
like the graceful arc
of a ballerina's back
as she dances with purpose
to the sensual tune
coursing through the studio.
Each movement
an extension of another
spinning, twirling,
creating circles on the floor,
a perfectly executed arabesque
followed by a grand jete.
Your tousled hair sweeps
delicately across the stage,
one coupe follows another
brushing everything else
out of its path
to dance alone once more.
You crave cleanliness,
the glistening hard wood
of a newly washed studio
so you may pirouette to a finish,
claim the spotlight one last time
before you retire with one final curtsy.
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