Hoovering

When he’s desperate he turns me on again
I stretch out to be the length of his favorite sin
He’s ever so violently intermittent when he drains me
Yet I store his dirt in clumps and heaps without complaining
I move everything but him out of my direct path
I roll forward or backward when he passive aggressively asks
I adjust when he just wants me to suck his corners and curtains
I act smaller when he ignores me so that I am never a burden
And when he feels absolved of it all he’ll turn me off again
Putting me away next to his washing machine and rubbish bin