A response to Dag T. Straumsvåg’s ‘Endless Plains, Clouds,’ which you can read on Asymptote here.
Was the thought that someone,
a woman, of course
might vacuum up a Ming Dynasty vase
a moment of cold, clear irony
or an admission of ignorance?
A tacit confession to never having vacuumed
to not understanding how the heavy shards would destroy the machine
Like playing an offshoot of charades in theatre class
And one woman
from our circle of women
throws out a suggestion
to the one man
in our circle of women
“How about ironing?”
He looks up
and starts doing these strange hand movements
reminiscent of spreading pancake batter around a frying pan with the back
of a ladle.
“My wife does that.”
I don’t iron
and I don’t own an iron.
I’ve made sure this never becomes an inconvenience by also not owning
anything that needs to be ironed.
And I sweep my room.
Less can go wrong with a broom.