Floor Cleaner
These elixirs are caving in the kitchen floors in the home that I built from the ground up like the floor in Super Mario 64, I got to step out my room with caution. Swiffer ain’t gone do shit for it, just Nascar it like a toilet bowl. The darn dog did this, he turned the floors into a literal urinal. There is rats and cats underneath the floors to the home; home sweet home. When it floods, they all turn to duds and the possums watch from the neighbors fence. It might be time to stop using these floor cleaners, they are going to take me to the cleaners when it all just gives in. I don’t know what they used before these elixirs came to prominence. We would have to focus in on what Shrek did, he was the father figure of the olden times. I assume slices of onions and lemons on the ground with a bucket of water running through the room to the open door was the say all. These cleaners are so bright with colors and are so affordable. The smell of the floor cleaner has changed me so immensely, it was something that I was missing. Slow me down till two in the morning , where the body just crumbles to the cushion while a video plays on till it decides it is enough. All week long, it is a rush like Neil Peart was in charge of the commotion. Some days i’m indifferent to the peanut guy that is on the bag of peanuts, his smile to me while I eat what he provided to me for breakfast for the consecutive time this week is a form of mockery. You shouldn’t beat people with glasses they say but this cunty fucker has half a pair on. One foot out the door with that pocket watch on his face, i’ll make sure he can tell the time the next time I see him next a clock. The fumes of the floor cleaner is better than perfume. Only a few things I look forward to through out the week, from the trashman taking my treasures away to scouting on the next thing to blow this savings on. I mix a couple of my favorite floor cleaners into one, let the chemistry decypher it all the colors for me. I wipe down the floors once a week, late saturday. All for me for the next twenty four hours. In bed with a racquetball, throwing it against the wall and watching it come back to my hand every time. I should quit it all and go pro, let the sport scientist hook me up with the wires to admire the physical specimen. The metaphor of bouncing back is embedded into the memory when tucked for sleep for tomorrow, there is work tomorrow. That kitchen is a mean street til tuesday, it’s eight miles long on the membrane. You gotta go through the laundry and out the gated backyard to the front door to go brush your teeth in the morning. I keep the racquetball in my pocket to squeeze when heading into the weekend like the fortune from a cookie has some answers for me. I showed a cleaning lady at a hotel how to do this when getting my floors fixed and she thought it was voodoo but the doves stayed afloat when the sensational fumes loomed. I cleaned my room and left for grounded land before I melt through the floors, drove around the block with the windows down and settled in the hotel’s parking lot.