Shoes collect in eddies.
Jackets drape themselves.
Dust appears, where none have tread.
Books slump on the shelves.
Rust creeps from the sink-drain.
Hair grows in the shower.
Smears appear on windows clear.
Never clean, my bower.
To alter carefully-arranged
And neat Humanity.
What point is there in fighting?
Let the ivy cloak the tree.
Why resist His insistent insolence?
Copyright 2022 Andrea LeDew
For another look at clutter, and how it defines a person, read Clutter. For a poem about how stuff can get in the way of achieving your best self, read Ballast. For a short-short story about being regarded as dispensable as we age, read Old Junk.