A Cautionary Tale About Dusting

There is something living under Terrance's bed.

Not monsters, but dust bunnies, and they are well fed.

You see, Terrance keeps a messy room, which is good for dust bunnies

because dust bunnies are allergic to brooms.

Dust bunnies aren't born so much as they're rolled up,

of hair and lint and other small stuff.

They sleep in corners, and awake at dusk.

And while Terrance sleeps, they graze on dust.

If caught in the light, they play dead

and roll out of sight when you turn your head.

These happenings make people clean

so they are timid creatures and rarely seen.

And all was milk and honey for the dust bunnies 

living in Terrance's messy room,

until a knock on the door and some well spoken words 

spelled certain doom for the unwitting herd.

Terrance's Mom having written the check,

quick as he came the salesman left.

Leaving behind one slick machine,
a Ma MacGregor Big Bagger model number fourteen.

Such noise. He awoke in a flash, his friends rushing past.

But he was too fat.

Last week he rolled up a tack,

and as dust bunnies are what they eat,

his new name was Fat Tack.

And he didn't much like that,
so he had been moping about

and hadn't rolled round to round out.

It was quiet then, as it occurred to him,

it didn't much matter what he was called when,

there was no one to call him.

And he shook and he cried in his nook in the wall then.