Beauty

I'm vacuuming a neighborhood

I often inhabit. Once a few

isolated dwellings, quiet, wooded,

now the street is strewn

with trash. The houses I vacuum

mirror outdoor space —

door frames are windows

everything's coated in yellow scum.

I charge $15 per hour. My last customer

fails to pay me before I wake up.

Her daughter watches me vacuum

to confirm I'm not corrupt.

The grandmother says she's happy

to have a home. That's beauty.

Children are colored dust.

The vacuum's bin I dump

between each home.

More beauty would be these junk-

swept streets in heavy rain.

Everyone's mattress is yellowed foam

partially covered with large pale flakes

like upside-down drops — no, petals —

the beds wear petaled capes.