A VACUUM by Sharon Chalem

This isn’t about an unexpected object in the home

but an object in an unexpected place

an old Hoover in the open doorway, pale green and upright

between the living room and hall

where I left it stranded, where everybody passes

I didn’t see it; well, I saw it

but like a puddle or a buckled sidewalk

gently disruptive, slightly changing the course

glanced-upon and walked-around

and left to its own devices in a fog of hours

It’s so stark to see how it was in your way,

how everything was always in the way

the vacant space behind every object was in high demand

I couldn’t tell you about the oblivion because it was empty

but anger has a body, the Hoover roars

She’s not a grey little hippo with a ropey grey cord for a tail

or a stranger who showed up in the dim light

to stand on the rust-red carpet in the shadow of the door

The Hoover is a bruise, still tender

I loved her curvy shape, but I sold her in the driveway