Blank slate

The counter looks at me – an 
icy-white canvas that’s coolness
penetrates my gaze. 
When the day ends 
lost and tired 
it is a blinding pyramid 
that beacons far and wide 
calling my attention blindingly. 
To tarnish so soon, to stain, 
smear, smudge, and splatter. 
It’s gaze asks where to go, what to 
do, its canvas waits to be created.