Terminal #1 When you were away for weeks, I released the maid so that I could clean. And I scrubbed until Ajax was dirt against me. I squirted Ultra Bright on SOS pads and applied with friction against my skin. I brushed even my eyeballs, painful as it was. The erect bristles to and fro, up and down. I flossed my lashes I purged my mouth, throat, chest, intestine, lower bowel by flushing Windex down the channels, cancelling every impurity. I bathed in a tub of rubbing alcohol, Pine Sol and boiled water. I plucked hair by hair from my hot legs and sucked them up with a vacuum. I slowly inserted sterilized needles into each skin pore, banishing evil soil. I mean, I was clean. For weeks I showed off my explicit godliness. Yesterday when you arrived in terminal #1, musky scented and pink on your collar I felt an outbreak of dirt in a pocket of virgin skin. And then another, and another, in the crease of my ear in the slit of my eyelids in between toes down the threshold of my throat in the plugs of my hair there and here and another and more, more, more, until all of me was a thick film of yellow. Rosanne Agasee