“Hello bed,” Eric said.
“You’re a faithful bed.
A little smudged and smeared
But your dirt is good dirt,
Who says dirt is always
I love your good clean dirt,
Which is my skin-cells rubbed
On you to clean myself.”
Having said that, Eric threw
Himself down on the bed
For a nap. As he slept
Sebaceous craters bled raw puss,
Which colonies of skin-eating microorganisms
Sucked up for lunch, and then
Deposit acidic waste in Eric’s pores.
Every pore was a flower-pot
Filled with tiny monsters gardening,
Eating and regurgitating flecks of skin
Reshaped by microbe saliva into
Huts where microbes love to live.
Eric woke and showered; handfuls of
Lavender soap in his pores killed
Many. The busy bed buzzed
Constant invisible industry of Earth