Grown Up Party

I am a grown up this time,
I say as I sweep the floors,
trap up the dust and paper flecks
and particles of pencil lead.
My dance with the broom
is so subtle it looks like a fight
between push and pull, between the floor
and long blond hair.
Voraciously I sweep, knocking corners
as I prepare for a horrible evening,
humming to Sinatra and lighting candles.
“Please extend the invite to your girlfriend,”
I asked you, so this time
whatever girl you’re dating can come too,
and my floors will be clean as hell.

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