LPiA-22 Nov. 16
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 16

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem inspired by a common household chore.
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Must we shed so much Dust
Skin particles and endless Hair
We crush and refuse to touch Roaches
Mixed with dragged in crumbled Leaves
Remnants of fresh opened anything Plastic
I don't even know where we get all the Paper
It's all going where we keep the dirty Socks
Swept neatly under the couch.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
“The Dishes
aren’t going to do themselves”
is what I heard growin up,
and it left me scratching my head
that in a family of ten, I often
got stuck with the job.

And it, stuck with me.
I’m a damn near professional.
Lucky me.  The thing is
the more I did, the less I minded it.
At least dishes didn't talk back.
In my domestic universe
chores are a clash of civilizations:
my Germanic partner 
in this post-Edenic world
believes the dishes must be done
immediately after dinner.
But I am of another race, 
a lazy mix of Anglo Irish variety
and can’t face the tedious
until I’ve had time 
to work up a bit of guilt
about duties left undone.
In penance, I clean the cat-box
then retreat back 
to prelapsarian contemplation
as dishes clatter, announcing 
that I’ve been kicked out of Paradise
all over again.
Saucer party

clink scrub
clink clink clink clink

clink scrub
clink clink

Pocket fulla lint
Teacup lemon scent
clink clink
"Whenever is a really long never"
Regular Order

Once or twice a month I dust
the long “great room” my house contains
in hope of visitors who must
be made to think their host maintains
his domicile so regular
for his and not infrequent guests’
delight, and holds them singular
and worthy, not disturbing pests.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
(11-17-2022, 04:24 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  In my domestic universe

I been kicked outta Paradise many-a-time, but Hell, only a few.
The Putter-Togetherer's Song

Half of those who default
to apocalyptic modes of thought
are earnestly in such distress
that only in destruction
can they find hope.
The other half are sadists---nonetheless,
either side's to be advised:
like wrapping gifts or drinking tea,
there is an art to keeping candles lit.
Trimmed wicks make for cleaner burns
and would you want smoke to get in your eyes
when the bridegroom finally calls?

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