“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
Dirty anyway?
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