Fair Deal (True Love in the House edit)

[ellajam]

My hate for vacuums knows no bounds,
no dust is worth that clumsy beast;
I cringe at it's obnoxious sounds.
I'd rather cook a full-blown feast,
my kitchen humming in my head:
the hissing pan for meat or crepe,
the soothing squeak of dough for bread
against the board, the beater's scrape.

Alone I clear each meal's debris
and scrub the porcelain sink, again
the dinner cleanup's left to me.
I guess I really can't complain;
he vacuums carpets, washes clothes,
two gifts more dear than gem or rose.


*from NaPM

Hi ella, I really like this sonnet. The only two things that bother me are the "knows no bounds", and The anthropomorphism of the vacuum is strange, unless it's a Nemerov allusion--but I don't see a reason for that symbol, there's not a lot of grief in the poem, certainly no mourning--or even stranger I suppose is the sounds themselves being obnoxious. You have a typo in "its" in that line.

reading this makes me think about my mr. and mrs. smith tetrameter sonnet from napo (An Art.), and want to go back and see if I should workshop it. smiles all around.

My poem's vacuum is, sadly, or happily, not a symbol of anything more than an avoided chore. And maybe one of those expensive newfangled vacuums has some grace, but mine, in fact, is a noisy, clumsy beast.

I'll see what I can do with "knows no bounds", and fixed the typo, thanks.

As always, I appreciate the comments, and thanks for the Nemerov pointer, a good read.