Adhesive

The interview is set for half-past nine,

and I am standing in the kitchen glare

trying to make this heavy wool look fine,

removing every stray and silver hair.

I roll the plastic cylinder across

the shoulder where the cat was sleeping late,

accounting for the fibers and the loss

that gathers on the sleeve like heavy weight.

I peel the sheet back with a jagged snap

to find the clean, white surface underneath.

It’s just a way of clearing out the trap,

of putting on a smooth and public sheath.

But even as I strip the gray away,

I know the dust is coming for the day.