The kitchen floor detests my mop;
It’s been on strike all year.
The great room carpet, as you see,
Has developed vacuum fears.
Meanwhile, the toilets, yellowed raw
Fear brush and boy alike;
While nearby sink and faucet friends
See sponge and yell out, “Yikes!”
The piles and piles (and piles) upstairs
Of clothes shy from my hand.
Our blankets, sheets, and pillowed beds
Won’t lay as I demand.
And so, you see, oh dearest spouse
I’ve tried hard as hard can be.
One simply cannot fight a house
Nor law of entropy.
The Creative Exchange
Some days my nails keep breaking,
As I lose hair strand by strand;
And the vitamins I’m taking
Can’t be opened just by hand.
Sometimes I sweep and mop the tile,
Get dinner on the table,
Then ruefully watch ev’ry child
Drop as much as he is able.
Somehow the same pants surface
Ev’ry time I sort the clothes.
They’ve yet to be in service,
But round and round they goes.
Somewhere beyond the drywall
There’s life; there’s something more:
There are shining floors and people.
I run away! -to the grocery store.
Originally posted at chelseaannowens.com.