Doing the Laundry
I spend more than an hour everyday
instead of out in the woods to play
in a folding frenzy
that's where I will be
these piles are here to stay.
If a day is missed the pile is grand
as if the clean pants will make a stand
tired of this rotation
a laundry vacation
why can't we be evenly tanned.
As the kids run far and run near
here in this laundry path to clear
to my son I throw pants
they listen to my rants
all filled to the brim with lost sock fear.
With piles piled up to the sky
my heart to the heaven's asks why
we need daily clothes cleaned
a stain where shirt is seamed
to the rewash pile with a big sigh.
Off to the store to get more soap
shaking our washer is trying to cope
at least it is time to think
in a lake of shirts stink
the last glimmer of domestic hope.
More by this Author
I started to read Shel Silverstein when I was eleven years old, the same time "A Light in the Attic" was published. I read every poem at least a dozen times and ran out and grabbed a copy of "The Giving...
Poetry Month Poem #28
"The name is Bill Burroughs. I am a writer. Let me tell you a few things about my job, what an assignment is like." William S. Burrough from The Adding Machine.